


Damaged

by StarsGarters



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Alcohol, Angst, Boot Worship, Butt Plugs, Coming Out, Domestic Violence, Double Anal Penetration, Double Penetration, Drug Use, Gaslighting, Grinding, HYDRA Husbands, HYDRA Trash Party, Hospitalization, Intercrural Sex, Internalized Homophobia, M/M, Medical Trauma, Memory Alteration, Memory Loss, Outdoor Sex, Panties, Past Rape/Non-con, Pegging, Pining, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, RMS Titanic, Rape/Non-con Elements, Rimming, Shower Sex, Spanking, Suicide Attempt, Survivor Guilt, Threesome, Threesome - M/M/M, Torture, Voyeurism, Wedding Fluff, Wrestling, dirt sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-18
Updated: 2015-09-27
Packaged: 2018-03-31 02:02:20
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 33
Words: 51,584
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3960247
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/StarsGarters/pseuds/StarsGarters
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jack Rollins looked over at his CO, Brock Rumlow, in the gloom of the insurgent base.  He was covered in blood splatter and brain matter, but somehow it suited him. And his stupid thick glossy hair. Hair that would look good on a girl, hair that you could wrap your fingers in and pull...</p><p>My version of the events that lead up to the madness that has leaked about Civil War.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * Translation into Русский available: [Сломанные](https://archiveofourown.org/works/7056772) by [Saysly](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Saysly/pseuds/Saysly)



Jack Rollins looked over at his CO, Brock Rumlow, in the gloom of the insurgent base.  He was covered in blood splatter and brain matter, but somehow it suited him. And his stupid thick glossy hair. Hair that would look good on a girl, hair that you could wrap your fingers in and pull...

They’re not married, no matter what the team jokes, but there’s no one else he’d rather have at his back. The two of them can commit mayhem like no other members of STRIKE. Quick, ruthless and efficient. They were born for this. It’s only natural to think about how else they might fit together, seamless pieces of the same puzzle. 

“Earth to Jack. Earth to Jack.” Brock said and snapped his fingers. “Come on Rollins, you’re spacing out on me here.” Jack jerked out of his reverie and watched Brock wipe off his face with the back of his gloved hand, smearing his cheekbone with red. “That fucker never saw us coming.”  There was blood on Brock’s white teeth. Jack thought about kissing it off. 

But it’s not like that. It’s never like that. Brock’s not... like that. No matter how much Jack wanted things to be different, they never will be. Jack nodded, he said,  “ _Nice_.”  Because he’s a man of few words and Brock always said more than enough for both of them.

“Nice? It was so much fucking better than that.” Brock bounced on the balls of his feet, full of post-mission adrenaline. “Mission complete. Meet at evac site.” He ordered through the comm unit. He clicked it off, flicking a bit of tissue off of his ear with a wet spatter. “I want a hot shower, a cold drink and a fine piece of ass when we get home.” 

Jack snorted in response and they watched each other’s backs as they rendezvoused with the rest of STRIKE. 

\--

“Look. All I’m sayin’ is that-- there’s no way-- a fucking caveman could beat an astronaut.” Brock took another shot of tequila and sucked on a lime. He blinked blearily, “What was I saying?” 

Jack shook his head. “You’re totally wrong. And you’re too fucked up to tell me otherwise.” He took a swing of his beer. “You’re cut off. Let’s get your pansy ass home.” 

“I’m not a fag.” Brock declared.

“Neither am I.” Jack agreed. 

“But if I swung that way, I’d go gay for you Jack.” 

Jack nearly gagged on his beer and Brock laughed. “Shut it. You asshole.” Jack said, sputtering. 

“No really. You’ve got these pretty lips. Like a girl’s.” Brock reached over and Jack’s heart nearly stopped as he ran his fingertips over Jack’s lips. “Soft.” Jack couldn't help but lean into that touch. 

“But not as pretty as mine. Right?” Brock smirked. “No really, _feel_.” Brock grabbed Jack’s hand and put Jack’s fingers against his own lips. Jack’s eyes widened and Brock’s narrowed with mischief. He parted his lips and the tip of Jack’s finger slippped inside. A quick wet dart of Brock’s tongue and Jack’s cock was hard. Brock puckered his lips and gave a fleeting suck, a hint of a promise. Jack groaned. He couldn’t help it. 

“ _Gotcha_.” Brock said. “You never saw that fucking coming.” Then he dropped Jack’s hand and threw back his last shot. “You should have seen your face.”  

Jack couldn’t look at him. He put his cash on the bar, adjusted his painfully firm hard-on and left the barstool. “Find your own way home, asshole,” he muttered. 

“What? Oh come on Jack! Don’t be like that, Big Guy!” Brock pleaded, “I don’t want to pay for a taxi!” Brock’s cheap, he certainly didn’t buy his own liquor. Jack always pays, just hoping, hoping for what he knows can’t happen. 

Jack sighed and made the short sharp signal that STRIKE used for _move out_ and Brock grinned with all his neat white teeth. “Thanks buddy. You know I was only foolin’. You’re my bud.” Brock tackled Jack with a bear hug of camaraderie, his head barely reached Jack’s chin. His hair smelled like cheap pomade, cedar and sandalwood. Brock grabbed a fistful of Jack’s shirt and pulled him down, kissed the corner of Jack’s mouth. 

“You kiss all your buddies like that?” Jack said, stunned. 

“Just the girly ones.” Brock smirked and mimed a pistol with his fingers, “You should see your face!” He laughed and tottered out to the street. “Never fucking saw that coming.”

\--

They had been on standby for 36 hours and Brock was pacing the shitty safehouse studio. Fifteen paces. Pivot. Fifteen paces. You could set your watch by it. Brock couldn’t stay still unless he was fully armed and aiming at a target’s head. Jack watched, mesmerized, the mechanical engineering book in his lap forgotten. 

“Take a fuckin’ picture already!” Brock snapped at him in frustration.

Jack said in a sing-songy voice, “ _And he does his little walk, up on the catwalk. Up on the catwalk_.” 

“You did not just sing Right Said Fred at me.” Brock frowned. “And not even the _good_ part!” 

“What’s the good part?” 

“ _I’m too sexy for my shirt! So sexy it hurts!_ ” Brock pulled at the neck of his tight black t-shirt and smirked. “That’s the best part.” The elastic snapped back, “I’m so fucking bored.” He flopped down on the couch beside Jack. “Do something amusing.” 

Jack rolled his eyes, “I’m not a fucking clown. You should have brought a book. Want story time, baby?” He deliberately turned a page very slowly. 

“What’s it about?” Brock looked up at the cracks in the ceiling. He’d declared that the water stains looked like Venezuela about hour 17. 

“It’s about the engine specifications of the--” 

“I’d rather die.” Brock interrupted and crossed his arms petulantly.  

Jack turned another page. “Suit yourself. Take a nap.” 

“Can’t. Too worked up.” Brock whined, after a few beats there was the sound of a zipper. Jack looked up in bemusement. “Be a pal. Gimme a handjob.” Brock grinned. “Come on, it’s just what I need to take the edge off.” 

“No.” Jack said without conviction. Brock took his hand and put it on his crotch. The book fell to the floor. “I’m not one of your bimbos.” Jack said as he kneaded Brock’s erection under the taut fabric of his pants. 

“Protest and objection noted.” Brock let his head fall back against the couch back, still for the first time in hours. Jack took out Rumlow’s cock, thick and heavy in his hand and gripped it firmly. “That’s right, Big Guy.” Brock gasped and a bead of fluid dripped down the tip of his cock. “Oh come on, don’t be a tease. I’ll return the favor. I promise.” 

Jack sighed and held up his cupped hand in front of Brock’s face. “Spit.” This wasn’t the first time he’d helped Brock work through his nervous anxiety. He massaged and rolled the skin under his big rough hand, worried the bundle of nerves underneath the swollen head and watched his CO writhe under his grasp. So beautiful when he let go, Jack wanted to kiss him, but he bit his lip instead.  

Brock bucked into his palm and Jack caught a palmful of Brock’s semen. Brock grinned, his hooded eyes half-closed. “What am I supposed to do with this?” Jack demanded because he knew what Brock would do and the sight was breathtaking.  

Brock licked his cum out of the palm of Brock’s hand, lapped it up like a cat with cream, then sucked Jack’s fingers until blood roared in his ears. “Easiest way to clean up.” Brock shrugged. Then he curled up on the couch, using Jack’s lap as a pillow, ignoring Jack’s hard-on inches from his mouth. Jack made a sound of protest, but Brock cut him off with a short, sharp gesture. “Shh! Sleeping. Try to rest, Big Guy. That’s an order.”  

“Fuck you, Brock.” Jack muttered, resigned to yet another doomed hard-on. 

“Maybe later.” Brock patted Jack’s thigh. “Maybe later, buddy.” Then he closed his eyes and dozed off, a trickle of drool made a wet spot on Jack’s pants. Jack watched him sleep until he fell asleep too, one hand in Brock’s hair and the other resting possessively on Brock’s shoulder. And he was content. 

\--

Jack’s doorbell rang. He wasn’t expecting anyone. He looked out the side window, just in case. It was Brock with two duffel bags crammed full of stuff slung over his shoulders. Jack opened the door, warily. 

“Girl Scout Cookies!” Brock announced. “Come on, let me in.” 

Jack leaned against the doorframe and crossed his massive arms. “Why?” 

“Well, Cheryl kicked me out. Said that I was keeping secrets from her and that she wasn’t going to put up with my shit anymore.” Brock shrugged, “She was right about the secrets part, wasn’t she?” Jack nodded, secrets were just a part of the job. “And she met someone at that church thing she goes to and they found Jesus together and words were said and I need a place to crash while I find a new pad.” 

“There’s Motel 8.” Jack started to shut the door. 

Brock put his booted foot in the door jam, “Oh come on. You’ve got the space. You’ll never even know I’m here. I’ll be quiet. I can pay you.” He peered in the crack of the door, “We’re always hanging out anyways, why not?” 

“I like my space.” Jack kicked at the toe of Brock’s boot. “I’ve only got one bed.” 

Brock buzzed his lips, “You’ve got a couch and I’ve slept on the floor more times than I can count. Come on, Big Guy. Do me a solid here.” Brock lowered his voice and said, “I can pay you in other ways too, if you get my drift.” 

Jack swallowed, his mind suddenly blanking out at the implications of that offer and Brock pushed his way in. “Thanks pal. You won’t even know I’m here. Where can I put my stuff?” 

Jack pointed at his mother’s old room, still crammed with her mementos and clothes. Brock tossed his duffels on the carpeted floor and made a face, “Jesus, Jack. It’s been a year now. Ever thought of having a yard sale? Tell ya what, I’ll help you take care of this.” Jack looked at his CO as he stood in the middle of his dead mother’s belongings and nodded.  

Brock gave Jack a big bear hug and clapped him on the shoulder. “Thanks roomie. We’re gonna get along like a house on fire.” 

“That’s not a good thing,” Jack muttered, “There’s usually casualties from that.” 

“Sure, sure, Captain Literal.” Brock grinned, “Come help me with the rest of my stuff. You know my sound system is cherry, right? We’re gonna be great together, just like Bogota.” He picked up a dusty box of figurines and made a disdainful face. "Precious Moments?"

“We fucked up in Bogota. Lost two men, remember?”  

“Did I say Bogota? I meant Brunei.” Brock laughed, “Slip of the tongue. Come on Big Guy, lend a hand.” 

Jack found himself unloading the contents of Brock’s black Trans Am and moving the boxed contents of his mother’s life into the living room. He’d already gone through her things months ago, keeping a few items for himself and mailing the rest of the valuables to his aunts. He ran his fingers over the fabric of her favorite floral housecoat and then crammed it into a sack. He cinched up the handles and tossed the bag into the pile with the rest of the boxes. 

Brock hung up his phone, “Okay the guys from St. Vinnie’s will be over this afternoon. You get a tax deduction. Easier than a yard sale, even though I do like to argue with people over 25 cent shoes.” 

He held up a box, “Present for you.” He tossed it at Jack, who snagged it mid-air. 

Jack opened it up. “A double-wide hammock?”

Brock pointed at the two giant maple trees in the back yard, “Housewarming present.” 

“How long have you been planning this?” Jack asked incredulously. 

Brock crossed his arms and smiled, “Oh you know me. I’ve always got at least two exits planned, that’s why we’re both still breathing, Big Guy.” He held up two fingers and winked. “You’ve been looking for a renter for months, kinda half-assed if I do say so. And I am not moving in with my sister and her four rugrats. I’d rather die. Uncle Brock has too many pointy sharp things to live with the preschool set.”

“You’d fit in.” Jack tied the end of the hammock around a tree. “About your education level.” Maybe this wouldn’t be so bad. He snugged up the knot. 

“I did enjoy finger-painting, still do in fact. Snack and naptime. Hell, don’t knock preschool. Probably the best time of my life.” Brock helped with the other end, soon the hammock was secured. “Well, hop on. Try not to fall on your ass, it's softer than your head.” 

Jack floundered and flailed, there was no graceful way to get into a hammock, but once he was there in the sweet spot, it felt good. There was a cool breeze under the dappled branches and the sway of the hammock was soothing. “Anders is going to talk so much shit about this,” he murmured.  

“Anders just wants to come to the barbecue next Saturday, she’s bringing the coleslaw. No, goddammit, Murphy is not allowed to bring dessert. Remember that fucking thing he made with the coconut and agave? I was scraping my tongue to get the taste out of my mouth. I’d rather lick asshole than eat that again.” 

Jack tried to sit up and the hammock started to sway dangerously, “What?” 

Brock steadied the hammock with his hip without looking up from his phone, “Yeah, group text. We should have everything set up by then. Do you have a grill?” 

“In the garage.” Jack gave up and surrendered to Brock’s momentum. Once he got started, there was no stopping his single-mindedness towards his objective. “They have to bring their own beer.” Brock reached down and tousled Jack’s hair affectionately. 

“We’re gonna get along fine, Big Guy. We’re buds.” 

“Is that all we are?” Jack asked softly, the yearning in his voice undisguised. 

Brock looked up from his phone and smiled. “That depends on if I sleep on the couch or not.” Then he gave the hammock a giant shove and Jack had to wind his fingers in the twine netting to keep from capsizing. He told himself that his lurching stomach was from the rocking motion and not from the gleam of mischief in Brock’s eyes as he walked away to check out the grill in the garage. He was so fucked. 

\--

Jack shuddered as Brock worked his slicked thick fingers up inside of him, the want and the yearning barely overpowering his self-loathing. He was so weak, so weak to submit to this, to take Brock’s cock deep up inside him. He wasn’t like that, he wasn’t. Then Brock’s clever fingers danced over that sweet spot within him and Jack gasped. 

Brock crooned in his ear, stroked his hot sweaty skin with his free hand, “Shhh... Relax Big Guy. You’re always so tense.” They’d done this more times than Jack could count over the past year. Jack was always on the receiving end. Brock refused to even consider taking Jack inside him whether it was his mouth or his ass. And what could Jack say about that? He couldn’t deny Brock anything, he’d be lost without him. From the moment they woke up, until the second they fell asleep, Brock was his rudder, his compass. What the fuck was he, if he wasn’t loyal? 

“I’m not gonna hurt you. I’d never hurt you. You’re my second, you’ve got my back.” Brock eased inside him, thick and hard. “Go on, say it.” He held still, gripping the skin of Jack’s hips with cruel fingertips. “I’m not moving until you say it.” 

Jack tried to buck back against Brock, desperate for that sweet friction. He babbled in a voice too high and whiny to be his own,  “I’m yours-- I’m--” And Brock pulled out and slammed back into him with a punishing pace,  “Jesus Christ Brock!” Jack gasped and canted his hips upwards, his cock drooling pre-cum on the sheets below him. 

“There you go,” Brock had stamina, he could keep up that pace for hours unless Jack begged him to stop. Many sessions  that had started out as a fast fuck had ended in marathon fucking. Jack slapped Brock’s stomach and made a flip-over gesture. Brock pulled out and let Jack rearrange all of his long limbs. He was so much bigger than Brock, but he felt dwarfed under the power of Brock’s hungry gaze. He was fucking blushing. And Brock loved it.  

“So beautiful spread wide on my cock.” He pushed back in and Jack’s eyes rolled back in his head. Brock wrapped his hand around Jack’s cock and stroked it in time with his thrusts. “I’d be lost without you, Big Guy.” It sounded like he actually cared, but Jack wasn’t stupid. 

“Bet you say that to all--” Jack slurred out, twisting the sheets in his fists. 

Brock stopped pumping his hips, leaned over and grabbed Jack’s face in his hand. “No. Just you Jack. Just you.” Jack stared at him in astonishment, and Brock ran his thumb over Jack’s mouth. “Lips sweet as a girl’s,” and Jack’s heartbeat thumped in his ears as Brock kissed him. Really kissed him, for the first time. Brock pulled back suddenly and fucked Jack with a ruthless pace, not meeting Jack’s eyes. Jack felt his cock wilting. He was revolting. He knew it. 

“Oh no you don’t. Not on my watch soldier.” Brock worked Jack’s cock with his hand and soon, Jack sprayed his belly with ribbons of thick white cum. Brock smeared it all over with his fingers, painting Jack’s abs with the sticky wetness. Jack panted and watched as Brock tasted one of his semen-slicked fingers, closed his eyes and came within him. 

He pulled out and lay in a sweaty heap beside Jack, worrisomely silent. Neither of them were cuddlers but when Brock got up and started the shower without a word, Jack felt like crying and hated himself for it. He knew what he was getting into, it was stupid to hope for more. He should be grateful to get as much as he did, not be so greedy. Brock came back with a warm wet washcloth and daubed at the mess on Jack’s stomach. Jack pushed his hand away. 

“You shouldn’t have kissed me.” Jack muttered miserably. 

“Oh, you’re telling me what I should or shouldn’t do now, are you?” Brock said mildly. “Who died and made you CO?” 

“I mean-- You aren’t like _that_. You didn’t like kissing me...” He didn't meet Brock's eyes, "I know I'm ugly and scarred up. That's-- okay..."

Brock slapped his hand down on Jack's chest. “You’re a stupid fucking prick, Jack Rollins. Telling me what I like. Maybe I was thinking that I should have kissed you a whole fucking lot sooner and that I was an asshole for putting it off. Maybe I want to kiss you right now.” 

“Maybe-- maybe I don’t believe you.” Jack stammered. 

“You better fucking believe me. You better trust the fuck out of me, Jack. Because you belong to me and I’m your CO and I will never let you down. So don’t fucking insult me by saying shit like that,” he looked down, “Especially when you’ve got my cum dripping out of your asshole.” 

Jack flushed red and stared back at Brock, not backing down. “Put your money where your mouth is, fucker.” Brock lunged at Jack and their teeth met in a nasty, hard kiss that was more battle of wills than romance. Brock sucked on Jack’s tongue and wound his hands in Jack’s hair, pulling at the roots. Jack wrapped his legs around Brock and pulled his hard-muscled body close. They kissed until Jack’s vision swam, then Brock planted his hand in the middle of Jack’s chest and pushed him away. 

“Was it worth the wait, jackass?” Brock wiped his mouth on the back of his hand, stomped off to the shower and slammed the bathroom door. Jack fell back against the headboard and wondered what the hell he was doing. But he didn’t want to stop. He never wanted to stop. He was in too deep. 

 


	2. Chapter 2

SHIELD made no bones about being a humane organization, against torture and adhering to all the conventions of civilized societies. Which was total bullshit in Jack's opinion. So instead of old-fashioned head-cracking and intimidation, he had to attend seminars and conventions where people talked at him about ethics and morality, a waste of time. Jack knew what really changed the world, people like him working swiftly and decisively to remove the problems one headshot at a time. But he couldn't voice that opinion without raising attention to himself and possibly his true loyalties. Nah, he knew how to take waterboarding, he endured the teamwork seminar. 

Brock was laid up with a very convenient injury, a back thing that Jack rolled his eyes over. So he got to stay at home nursing some pain meds and daytime tv while Jack got _educated_. Thank god the fire alarm caused the seminar to end early. Funny how those random electrical fires could start sparking and smoking and just make everything smell awful. Really funny about that...

Jack pulled up in front of his house, there was a strange sedan in the driveway taking up his spot. There were devil and angel stripper girl decals on the back window. _That bastard._ Jack got out of the car and quietly walked to the backyard gate, easily hopping the fence. He snuck up to the bedroom window, peered through the half open curtains and cracked window... 

 _That motherfucking bastard._ Brock was flat on his back on their bed, his face smothered by his ex's pussy. And he was eating her out like a fat boy at a buffet. She quivered and bucked, her thighs clenched against his head and she played with her ample breasts. Cheryl threw back her head and grabbed Brock's hair, she pulled hard as she came against his lips. He pushed her off with a protesting squawk. "Jesus Christ woman, you almost drowned me!" 

"Whatever. That's your fault. I swear, you do this thing with your tongue-- can you teach Tim how to do that?" She waved her hand lazily. 

"Trade secret." Brock slapped her flank and wiped his damp face off with the back of his hand. "Now suit up." 

"Fine. You know you're lucky I didn't throw this away." She rolled off the bed and pulled out of her back a fat black dildo on a harness. She buckled it around her hips and secured it around her thighs. Jack's mouth went dry. "So are you like ready to go or not?  Cause I've got to go pick up Bridget at soccer camp."

"Yeah, yeah. I'm good, now shut up." Brock flipped over onto his belly and pushed a pillow under his hips, his legs spread wide. He squeezed his eyes tightly shut and Jack bit back a groan as Cheryl positioned herself behind him and pushed her way inside his lubed up hole. Brock swallowed up the thick plastic cock with barely a whimper and he growled, "Get on with it!"

"Whatever." Cheryl muttered and pumped her hips. Jack watched Brock's face soften, his lips sagged open in bliss and anger swelled up inside him. He'd let her fuck him. He'd beg for it from her. But would he let Jack fuck him? _No_. Jack's eyes narrowed and his cock throbbed underneath his uniform pants. He pressed his palm against himself. 

He watched as Cheryl pounded into Brock until she complained, "I'm getting tired. You ready yet?" 

Brock frowned, "Just quit talking damnit. All that lip is making me go soft." 

"Should just go get yourself a real cock and leave me out of this." Sweat dripped down her face, "Ask Jack. He looks like he could pound someone through the fucking wall." Was it his imagination or did Brock's mouth drop open at the mention of his name? 

"Shut the hell up Cheryl. I'm no fag." Brock sputtered as indignantly as he could with ten inches of plastic up his ass. 

"Yeah, yeah, yeah. Black and white with you Brock. That's why we broke up." She shrugged, "Not that you fucking care." 

"Jesus Christ Cheryl. Can you shut your fucking trap for like five minutes? Really? It's not that hard!" 

"Neither is your dick right now." Cheryl sneered. 

Jack stepped over to the backdoor of his house, unlocked it and snuck inside. The edges of his vision were clouded and his jaw was set. He made his way to the bedroom. The words in his head were eloquent and full of righteous pain, but he only said one word when he flung open the bedroom door, his belt in his hand. " _Out_!"

Cheryl screamed in surprise and fell back on the bed. Jack pointed at Cheryl and then at the door, she grabbed her dress and bag. She ran out of the room with the dildo still on her hips and Jack heard the front door slam. He crossed his arms and stared down at Brock who stared back at him in shock. 

"So." Jack hissed between his teeth. "You missed a great seminar, Brock. How's the back?" 

"The wonders of modern chemistry," Brock sassed back at him, missing the cold edge in Jack's tone. "You're home early. I was just having a little closure with the ex, you know? So, um, great seminar?" Jack sprung upon the bed and savagely wrestled Brock's arms into a submission hold. He looped the belt around Brock's wrists and secured it. Brock weakly struggled against the bonds. "What are you doing?"  

"What am I doing?" Jack unzipped his fly, the noise obscenely loud in the room. "I think the answer is obvious. I'm doing  _you._ " 

"No." Brock struggled in earnest at that. "No. I don't want that." He thrashed but Jack easily held him pinned down. He had the weight and the strength to do so. The heat of his anger intensified and he slapped Brock's ass, the flesh reddened and Brock cried out at the blow. "Stop! No! You motherfucker let me go!" 

Jack stroked himself, "I don't fucking care what you want." He pressed his cock between Brock's cheeks, kneading the flesh roughly with his fingers. "I should beat you with this belt for being a lying sack of shit. I should stop letting everyone think that we're just buddies. But I think, for right now, I'm going to take it out on your ass." Brock squirmed under his touch. "Quite literally."

"Go on. Beg me. See if it helps." He grabbed Brock's wrists with one hand, knowing that Brock was just as skilled as he was at getting unbound, he used the other to position himself. The tip of his cock breached Brock's taut ring of muscle and Brock shuddered beneath him like a winded horse. "Beg for mercy, you fuckwad. Beg me to not fuck you through the goddamned bed. _Our_ bed."

"Fuck you." Brock gritted out. "Get off me. I don't want this!"  Jack felt a thin smile curl on his lips and he pushed himself inside his CO with a vicious thrust. The wet heat and slickness felt cathartic and he churned his hips, pumping harder.

"You'll let her fuck you up the ass. Need the taste of pussy to get all loose back here?" A torrent of profane accusations and abuse dripped from Jack's lips, all the repressed bile and resentment that had festered in his gut. "Mr. Tough Guy is a little bitch after all. I've fucked whores who were tighter than you are, Brock." Brock groaned in spite of himself, Jack fisted a handful of Brock's hair and pulled. "It doesn't matter who fucks you, sweetheart. You're still the asshole getting stretched." 

"Shut. Up." Brock weakly ordered and Jack snorted. He braced his hand on Brock's shoulder and rammed inside him relentlessly. "You're gonna-- hurt me!" 

"Good. You deserve it." Jack said with conviction, "I've loved you since the moment I met you and you've used me. Used me for sex, used me for a roof over your head, recruited me... I've given you everything Brock and you, you sick fuck, you've lied to me."

"I- didn't!" Brock gasped out, "I don't--" Jack reached underneath Brock and squeezed his leaking, hard cock. "I never-" 

"I'm going to fuck you until you come on my cock. And then I'm going paint that lying mouth with my cum. And then I'm gonna toss your ass out on the curb and you can find yourself another second in command." Jack raked his nails down Brock's shoulder, the red welts made him smile. "How does that sound?" 

"Can't-- Can't do that!" Brock whimpered, his breath harsh and broken. 

"Why not?" Jack pinched a bruise into the flesh under Brock's shoulder. "Why the fuck shouldn't I dump you like the wet nasty trash you are?" He angled his cock to slam into Brock's sweet spot. "Tell me some pretty lies Brock. Pretty lies out of your pretty lips..." 

"I need you! I fucking need you Jack!" Brock howled, "Please!" 

"Not good enough. I'm going to fuck you so hard and sweet that you'll never forget it." Brock canted his hips upwards in search of an even deeper angle and Jack stopped. It was the most difficult thing he'd ever done, he stayed perfectly still. "I'm going to take the belt off. Why don't you show me how much you need me? Better make it good." He pulled out and sat on his heels after untying Brock's hands, his cock bobbing thick and heavy between his legs. 

Brock pushed himself up and rubbed his wrists. He stared at Jack, murder in his eyes, then he swallowed hard and slowly crept over to Jack. His face flushed deep red, he averted his eyes and said in a harsh whisper, "Let me ride you." 

Jack swallowed back his bile and let Brock push him back on the bed. He watched in awe as Brock straddled him and awkwardly positioned his cock against his hole. Brock sat back slowly and impaled himself, his eyes closed and lips murmuring a stream of nonsense syllables. He spat into his hand and rubbed it along his cock, stroking himself as he rode Jack with his powerful thighs. Jack was speechless as he watched Brock take pleasure from him, it was what he'd always dreamed of. Brock wanted him, needed him.  _God, he was so fucked._  

He clenched his fists in the sheets and uttered, "Brock--" His CO opened his eyes and looked at him, a fountain of white come shooting in an arc across Jack's chest. Jack shuddered and bucked underneath Brock, he came so hard his vision sparkled.

While Jack was was still gasping and trembling inside him, Brock balled up his fist and punched Jack as hard as he could right in the jaw. He rolled off Jack, shook his finger at him and said coldly, "You tell anyone about this and I will fucking _kill_ you." Then he laid on the bed beside Jack as they stared at the ceiling. "You hear me Jack? Loud and clear?" 

Jack nodded, "Affirmative. Fuck anyone else in my bed and I'll _kill_ you. You get me?" 

"Deal." Brock extended his hand and Jack took it, they shook hands. "Don't you fucking try to cuddle with me or I'll break that ugly nose of yours again." Brock threatened. 

"Wouldn't dream of it. Better go shower, you're leaking back there sweet cheeks." Jack shot back, he felt the urge to apologize, but shoved that impulse deep down. He looked down at the floor,  "And you better text Cheryl before she panics. She left her panties here. Gross."

Brock shook his head, "You're a total fag, aren't you?" 

Jack shrugged, "Maybe. Or I just like the pretty men, like you. You're dripping on the carpet." Brock flipped him off and limped off to the bathroom. Once the adrenaline and endorphins wore off, Brock was gonna be one sore sonavabitch. Jack rubbed his swelling jaw and winced. He deserved it. They _both_ did _._

 

 

 

 

 

 


	3. Chapter 3

_Two years ago._

It was raining. Of course it was. Seemed fitting for the funeral, their lives had revolved around the weather on the farm.

It was good that cousin Edith was going to do the signing for the sermon, Jack was rusty as all hell. Mother wouldn't have approved of his mistakes. She rarely approved of anything he did. That wasn't an issue now.

He could barely feel the weight of the coffin, but it felt like the burden was all his. Uncle Thomas stumbled in the slickness of the mud and Jack felt the coffin lurch dangerously to the side, but then Brock, of all people, stepped in. He smoothly shouldered the rail and murmured something to Uncle Thomas, who nodded gratefully and retreated back to the mourning procession.

They continued the trudge to the cemetery plot, the drizzle steady. Jack didn't look at the names on the family tombstone, the dates worn smooth by wind, time and the rain. His father's name was at the very bottom of the list. Had it really been ten years? There was a space for Jack on the monument too. No matter what he did, no matter where we went, there was always a place for him. Jack looked down at the hole in the ground that would soon swallow up the coffin containing his mother. Too bad that place was in the ground. 

They set down the coffin and stood to the side, a sea of black umbrellas. Jack was already drenched, numb. He watched Edith sign, the gestures smooth and expressive, words appearing in his mind with barely a thought. A man of few words, they called him. No, he always had something to say, but no one around him could read his signing. That's why he was rusty. And a disappointment. 

The rain was a blessing. It covered his tears. 

Jack ran his thumb over the mud on his palm, Mother wouldn't have approved of flowers. There was nothing wrong with good clean earth, life sprang forth from it and death returned the loan. Rain dripped from his nose. Family murmured their condolences to him, platitudes of sympathy. Words. Just words. Jack clenched his fist, grit between his fingers. He was alone. 

Brock touched Jack on the shoulder. When Jack didn't respond, Brock stood closer and clasped Jack around the wrist. Warm fingers on Jack's chilled skin. Brock paused, then as if he'd made a decision, slid his fingers into Jack's. They stood in the rain until the gravediggers finished filling in the plot and then Brock led Jack away from his mother's grave. 

They rode in silence back to the cheap motel. Brock unlocked the door, their shoes squelched with wetness. Brock took off his coat, hung it up on the hook. He took Jack's overcoat and did the same. He knelt down and unlaced Jack's muddy shoes, removed them. Brock ran the shower, turned on the fan and led Jack into the bathroom. The rest of Jack's clothes were stripped from him with careful efficiency that Jack knew well from missions. Brock pushed Jack into the shower and when Jack stood there numbly, Brock made a hissing sigh of exasperation through his teeth. He grabbed the tiny shampoo bottle, poured a glob into his palm and reached up to lather Jack's hair. 

The rough caress of Brock's fingers coaxed out the last of Jack's tears and he sobbed roughly into his hands as Brock rinsed his hair. The heat of the shower chased the chill out of his bones and he looked at Brock through his dripping lashes. He'd never had a better commander, a better friend. 

Brock stripped out of his wet clothing, lean and strong. He hooked a thumb over his shoulder and Jack nodded, stepped out and grabbed a towel. Brock took his shower, quickly, the water was starting to run cold. 

They sat on the slick floral bedspread of each one of the twin beds, wrapped in scratchy bleach-scented towels. Brock thumbed through the messages on his phone, frowned and clicked it shut. Jack watched him, drained dry of tears but still raw with grief. "We have to head back in the morning. Mission. Get some sleep." Jack followed his orders, slipped between the rough cotton sheets. He watched his CO do the same, watched the strength of his body and remembered the touch of his hands. 

"I love you. I've loved you for so long, Brock. I want you to know that I love you." Jack looked into Brock's hooded eyes, awaiting the inevitable rejection and the pity. "Please, I can't be alone. Stay with me. I'm sorry. I know you don't love me, but I can't... I have to let you know. I love you." He swallowed hard and Brock eventually sat up, Jack held his breath.

"Jacky-boy, you gotta use your words. I don't know that," Brock gestured, "Sign language shit. Get some sleep, soldier. That's an order." Brock turned off the lamp and Jack slumped back in the dark. He'd _signed_ his whole confession. Sweet merciful god. He stared at the ceiling until the sound of Brock's breathing lulled him to sleep. 

Jack's snoring made Brock pull out his phone and start thumbing through the internet. He was a light sleeper. Out of curiosity, Brock looked up a website of common sign language phrases. He paused when he saw a clip of _I love you._ He replayed it on a loop until the low battery warning flashed on his phone. He turned over on his side to face his second in command. Brock mimicked the sign in the dark and sighed.


	4. Chapter 4

 

Strike Team Alpha mission briefings were usually short and sweet, this one was no exception. Brock barked, "Okay listen up! We've got a new assignment. This is important, so there's no fucking this up. This comes right from Director Fury and Secretary Pierce, if you get my drift." Knowing nods, the room was filled to the brim with HYDRA operatives, only the best of the best for Alpha. "We're getting a new team lead tomorrow." Groans of disbelief.

"But... you're not dead?" Murphy chimed in and ducked a shoulder punch from Westfahl. Okay, maybe not the _absolute_  best of the best.

Rumlow nodded, and raised his eyebrows with a tight-lipped smile. "Yeah, I'm still here, I'm the second. Dumbass. You're gonna be taking orders from Captain Steve Rogers." 

Murmurs that all boiled down to variations on  _Fuck._

"Yep, the old Star-Spangled Man himself. So business as usual, don't fuck anything up, watch your backs and try not to confuse the freezer-burnt senior citizen. As you were." The team filed out of the room, muttering in disbelief. Jack stayed behind, crossed his arms and frowned. 

Brock shrugged. "Yeah, I'm not happy about it either. But am I gonna argue with Pierce?" He rolled his eyes. "I'm not suicidal." He clapped Jack on the shoulder. "I've got you to watch my back, right Jack?" 

"Always." Jack tapped on the collar of Brock's turtleneck. "Bruises." He knew right where to look because he'd put them there. Some he sucked into the skin while holding Brock's head into the pillow, others were the size of his fingertips because Brock loved to struggle. If he wasn't fighting, he wasn't enjoying himself. Order through pain, indeed. 

"Shit-- Why do you have to be so fucking brutal all the time?" Brock tugged up the edge of his collar. 

"Because that's the way you like it," Jack whispered close to Brock's ear. "But yeah, I got your back. Got my marks all the way down it." Brock flipped him off and stomped off down the corridor, his face flushed red. Jack was going to pay for that little stunt on the sparring mats, but frankly, he couldn't bring himself to care. He followed his CO's path and stopped dead when he turned the corner. 

A blond man built like a Greek god crossed with a porn star was easily chatting with Brock. Brock was grinning with all his neat white teeth and he held out his hand. Steve Rogers took it and they shook hands. Jack's gut curled up in spiteful jealousy. It was just a handshake, it was purely professional, he was over-reacting. Rumlow must have told a joke because Rogers laughed and reached out to touch Rumlow on the chest. It was just a light touch, something unconscious. Rumlow cocked his head to the side and Jack watched his love appraise the Captain from head to toe quickly before the laughter faded. 

He was only looking for weakness, that was it. Something to exploit. He was a professional. Brock was HYDRA. Jack screwed up his courage and walked closer, he heard the end of Rumlow's offer. "--so yeah. You gotta have a little street meat at least once. Hell, you might even survive it." Brock saw Jack approach and waved him over. "This is Jack Rollins. You're gonna love working with him. He doesn't say much, but if we find a deaf terrorist then he's the man." 

The Avenger offered Jack his hand. "A pleasure." Jack wasn't an asshole, he took Steve's hand and if he didn't try his damned hardest to make Rogers  _feel_ it. Rogers raised an eyebrow. "Good grip." 

Brock smirked, "You're telling me!" And Jack smiled, there was no way that Rogers would get that inside joke. He was good, he could handle this. They were both professionals. "I was telling the Captain--"

"Steve, please." The icon grinned sheepishly. 

"So I was telling Steve here about that shish kabob cart on 39th." 

"You mean the one that you got food poisoning from?" 

"You can't prove that! Anyways we should all go, have a nosh before we have to go save the world. Again." Brock rolled his eyes as if that particular act was an everyday chore.

"You do that often here?" 

"Yeah. But we're never on the front page." Brock smiled, "You're gonna like STRIKE, Steve. We're making a real difference. It's good to belong to something more important than yourself. To build a better world sometimes means having to tear the old one down. And that makes enemies. And that's where we come in." Jack blinked, that was the same speech that Brock gave him when he was recruited. Naah, it was just a coincidence. "Come on, Jack." Brock gestured with his head. "Time for an adventure where the only thing at risk is the lining of our stomachs." 

"Sure." He'd follow Brock to Hell and back, regardless of the consequences. 

\--

Brock started to come home later and later. He was handpicked for certain missions and it chafed Jack raw to be left out. It was all fucking Steve Rogers' fault. Rogers couldn't get drunk, but Brock had no limitations on that front.  Jack sat on the couch and stared at the front door, willing it to open. The last time Brock had rolled in at 3 am, Jack had bent him over the couch and sucking bruises down the length of his spine while jerking him off. The front door hadn't even shut before Rollins had been on him. Brock was  _his_ and no fucking celebrity was going to take that away from Jack. 

"Honey? I'm home!" Brock walked in, doing his best impression of a field sobriety test. "Lookie. Lookie." He grinned, "I'm not that drunk." He tripped on the area rug. "Okay, I'm a  _little_ bit buzzed." 

Jack grunted and looked back at his book, not reading a single word. He wasn't rising to the bait this time. He wasn't Brock's toy to be wound up and used. Not tonight. 

Brock stuck out his lip and leaned over the back of the couch, he tapped at Jack's temple. "Not feeling it? That's a shame. I was looking forward to a little slap and tickle." Brock brushed his lips against Jack's ear and a shiver ran down Jack, straight to his cock. 

"Ask Rogers." It was petty, but it felt right. "Sniffing around him like a dog in heat." 

His breath smelled like scotch and Brock purred, "Oh, you'd like that wouldn't you?" He traced the the rim Jack's ear with his tongue. "Gets you off you fucking perv. Should I call you Captain too, now?" 

"No." It was a feeble denial as Brock nipped at his earlobe. God, that felt good, not being the aggressor for once. Brock was buzzed, but he wasn't sloppy. His rare display of affection was intoxicating, something _good_ must have happened tonight. 

"You never get harder then when you see me with Steve, do you?" Brock played with Jack's hair, carding it with his fingernails. "Do you dream about what it would look like with him on his knees sucking me off? Ramming my cock down the back of his throat, making him gag on it? Do super soldiers have gag reflexes? I could find out." A trail of tiny teasing kisses down the pulse of his throat. "Make you watch it."

Jack wheezed out, "You'd be the one on your knees." The idea made his gut churn with uneasiness and arousal. The Captain's impossibly strong fingers wound in Brock's hair, trying to wipe the smirk off his face by slapping it with his dick. "You're the President of his fan club." 

Brock chuckled and rested his chin on Jack's head, his arms around Jack's neck. "Ha! Coulson would bitchslap me for that title. Prissy little fuck's obsessed. If I were Rogers I'd get a restraining order 'cause, like  _wow_." He reached down and stole Jack's book, snapped it shut and threw it on the coffee table. Rumlow stood up and sat on the arm of the couch.  "You're probably right. I do like a strong hand forcing me to my knees. Something about giving up control after being in charge. It's fucking _exhausting_ being me."

"You're such a baby, Brock." Jack smiled fondly for a moment, then resumed his poker face.  

"Oh come on, I've--  _grown up_ , a little bit. Right? It's taken me _ages_ to this far." 

Jack snorted. "Sure, Baby Brock. Sure."

Brock licked his lips and leaned close. "You know, you got me in trouble with the Captain tonight." Jack raised an eyebrow. Brock took off his shirt and pointed at the far too evenly spaced bruises. One looked like a flower, if you squinted. "Your marks. He saw them at the gym." Brock smiled smugly. "Everybody did."

The only way those bruises would have been visible was if Brock had stripped just like now. Jack was more careful about his placement these days after Westfahl, of all people, had giggled something about hickies. "Why? Wet t-shirt contest? Did you win?" 

"Showin' off these titties. You look this good, you've gotta flaunt it." Brock posed, made muscles with both biceps and then ran his hand down his rippling abdominals. He picked up Jack's hand and put it on his semi-hard crotch. Jack frowned and took it back. Brock whined like a puppy who had his favorite toy taken away.

"He took me aside and asked me, all concerned like, _Brock is someone hurting you?_ Do you need a place to stay?" Brock laughed as if it was the funniest thing he'd ever heard. "Yup. I'm a poor, poor battered housewife. You mean, mean thing. We need an intervention, maybe some counseling." He put the back of his hand against his forehead dramatically. "You're such a beast, Jack Rollins. A beast." _  
_

"You-- you didn't say that. Did you?" Jack's mouth dropped open. He wasn't an abuser. Was he? Brock  _liked_  what they did together, sure he never said  _yes_ , but that's just the way Brock was. "Oh my god, you're going to get me reported!" Panic swelled up in his throat. 

"Naah. Told him I was fine and that they were from sparring. Which they kinda were, weren't they?" 

"What the fuck, Brock? I can't believe you did that! What the hell were you thinking? Everyone's going to think I'm beating the fuck out of you and I love you, I only do that shit because you like it and ohmygodIcan'tbreathehere--" 

Brock sighed theatrically, "Use. Your. Words. Jack." Jack had relapsed into frantic signing and Brock rested his hand on Jack's shoulder, instantly calming. Stupid asshole had him trained.  

He flipped Brock off. "Christ, Brock! How am I gonna look him in the eyes now?" 

"You're just about the only one who can, Big Guy. Too tall muthafuckers." Brock shrugged, "Shove over." He curled into Jack's side on the couch. "Anyway, what that fuck does it matter? He's only gotta like me, I'm the one he has to trust. You can keep staring daggers into the back of his head. It's just a mission, Jack. Just a mission. You know, he's hard not to like. All those _muscles_." Jack elbowed him. "Ow, you jealous bitch. It's just a mission." Brock started kneading Jack's inner thigh, still not taking the hint. 

"You've been on a lot of those. Licking his boots?" Jack scowled, getting hard in spite of himself. Brock just smelled so good, even with that cheap ass body spray. He was so lost and Brock was his center, his fulcrum. What did it matter that Brock didn't feel the same way he did? 

"Actually, I've been working with the Big Boss. Got a new gig." Brock laughed and whispered into Jack's ear. "Ever heard of the Winter Soldier?" Jack gasped as Brock unzipped his fly and took out his cock. "Well, you're gonna love working with him. Living legends, babe. Living legends."

Brock licked a stripe up his palm. "Only the best of the best, right Big Guy?" He looked up at Jack, "We're making a better world, Jack." Rollins nodded mutely, enjoying the blissful touches. "Look at you, you love it. Dirty little bitch." Brock shrugged and muttered, "Fuck it." He lunged forward and took Jack into his mouth, sloppily. Jack could forgive that mouth anything. He writhed on the couch as Brock made quick work of him, swallowing down Jack's orgasm greedily. 

Jack pulled Brock up and kissed him, ran his fingers through Brock's ridiculous hair. "I do love it. But, I-- I love you more." Jack held his breath, he used his words this time. 

Brock nodded as if Jack had just told him that he'd paid the electric bill. He smirked, "Yet my dick remains unsucked." He put his hand on the back of Jack's neck and pressed. "Go on. Get on that." Jack, to his eternal shame, acquiesced without a murmur of protest. Brock's close clipped pubic hair chafed at his nose. What was pride when the center of your universe needed your attention? And really, there was no place he'd rather be. 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Gosh that little speech seemed awful familiar and awful eloquent for Brock, didn't it? Wonder who he's cribbing from?


	5. Chapter 5

"I gotta show you something." Brock nudged Jack as they walked down the halls of the HYDRA lab. Jack followed Brock into a small room with a very heavy door. Brock shut and locked it behind them. There were no windows and the only furniture was a metal bench bolted into the floor. A man clad all in black sat on that bench, his face covered by goggles and a mask-like muzzle. Long brown hair hung in lank tendrils and Jack shrank back against the door. 

He'd heard the stories. The mayhem this one man had caused. The Fist of HYDRA. "Holy shit!" Jack squeaked out, it didn't even sound like his voice. 

"Yeah." Brock breathed, low and steady, not scared in the least. And that freaked out Jack even more. If Brock wasn't scared, Brock was taking chances and in this room, with that  _thing--_

"We're not supposed to be in here." Jack pawed at the lock, he didn't know the keycode. 

Brock didn't stop looking at the Winter Soldier, "Sure we are. Pierce told me that down here, in this room, that there were  _no cameras_ and  _no_ _consequences_." He took a few deliberate steps and got within striking distance like an asshole. "And if he's a part of my team, then I gotta know what I'm working with." Brock leaned over, sizing up the newest member of his squad. 

He shook his head in admiration and his tongue darted out, wetted his lips. "I watched him take out a target last week. Fucking deadly. Strikes like a snake in the night. The target's not even aware he exists before," Brock sliced his finger across his throat. "Lights out, sunshine. I've never seen a sniper that can sight like he can, either. Like a goddamn murder wizard."   

"That's what an assassin is supposed to do. We need to get out of here, Brock." Jack begged, but if Brock heard the plea in his voice, he ignored it. The idiot sat down on the bench beside the Soldier and began to take off the man's body armor. The assassin didn't fight him, didn't make a single hostile movement. Brock was humming under his breath, fascinated. Jack watched with his mouth hanging open.  

"Yeah, but this guy here, this guy is special." A shiny silver arm gleamed in the institutional lighting. Brock ran his fingertips over the intricate metal plates up to the red enameled star on the soldier's shoulder. Fucking Russians had to label everything. "Stark wishes he could build one of these babies."   

"Can he feel?" Jack asked, his entirely reasonable fear surrendering to his curiosity. 

Brock smirked and continued his explorations, "What do you think?" 

Jack was confused for a moment, "I meant with that metal arm. He'd have to have pressure sensors for feedback and resistance. Otherwise, he'd crush whatever he was trying to hold on to..." Then it hit him like a sledgehammer in the gut. There was too much intimacy, too much familiarity in Brock's touch. "Oh Brock. You _didn't_. Tell me you didn't." Jack wasn't jealous, it wasn't like Brock would leave him for a freezer-burnt brain-wiped weapon, but he was horrified that Brock had taken such a risk. 

Brock took off the muzzle, flicked the catch open with practiced hands. The Asset had pink lips, lips like a girl's. Brock combed his fingers through the lank hair and tucked it behind the Asset's ear. The goggles were removed next, Brock tossed them on top of the armor. He knelt in front of the Asset and smiled. "Hey pal. You know me." He spoke in low, smooth tones just like when he was convincing Jack to do something stupid.

A tiny nod and Jack nearly jumped out of his skin. Brock rested his hands on the Soldier's thighs and then stood up. He looked down and tilted up the killer's chin, then he cradled his face in an gentle hand. Blue eyes looked up through thick dark lashes at Brock and the assassin  _leaned into_ his touch. Brock ran his thumb over those pink lips and the Asset parted them, the tip of Brock's thumb slipped between. Jack held his breath as he watched. "He likes it. A reward for good behavior. Compliance is rewarded."

Jack swallowed and slowly walked to Brock's side. He stood mutely and watched in fascination as the Asset suckled on Brock's thumb. "This is Jack. Jack is my second, in all things. You will obey him as you would obey me. Do you understand?" Another tiny nod and Jack was transfixed by that blue-eyed gaze. "His boots, Jack." Brock ordered and Jack knelt down. He was probably going to die in this tiny room because Brock couldn't control where he stuck his dick.  The air smelled like gun oil, sweaty leather and Brock's body spray.

 _Compliance is rewarded_. Jack felt his face flush in shame. Was he any better than this nameless man? He'd trade places in a heartbeat to have Brock look at him that way. _A reward for good behavior._ He was in too deep to fight it now, fucking loser. But then as Jack fumbled with laces and boot buckles, Brock dropped his hand down and started stroking _his_ hair with slow, sensuous fingers. Jack leaned into that touch, unable to resist. He closed his eyes and when he opened them, the Asset was looking at him. Jack stared back, Brock was _his_.   

Brock looked down at both of them, smirking. He cupped his hands around the back of their necks and rubbed with his thumbs, pleased. "Make friends."

Jack was confused but Brock guided them closer with pressure on their necks and the Winter Soldier was obviously quicker on the uptake than Jack was. Jack froze as the metal hand touched the side of his jaw, he held his breath. Soft pink lips claimed Jack's and far too sweetly kissed him. Jack fought the urge to push the other man away, _he wasn't like that_ , his pulse thundered in his ears. Soon sweetness devolved into something meaner, messier with teeth and tongues.

When they parted, Jack thought he saw a glimmer of pity in the Soldier's blank eyes, but it had to have been just a trick of the light. He stood up, ignoring the swelling of his cock and wiped his mouth on the back of his hand. "What are you looking at, asshole?" Brock raised an eyebrow. Oh fuck, he'd  _signed_ again _._

The Soldier moved his hands, expertly and crisply signed back to him a single word. " _Nothing_."

 

 

 

 


	6. Chapter 6

"Oh come on Jack, quit dragging ass." Brock said with an impatient shake of his head.

Jack didn't like the room without cameras, without consequences.  "I don't like the way the techs look at me." They _knew_. Cameras or not, they knew. How could they not know when Jack stumbled out of that place reeking of sweat and sex, his hair matted and his lips swollen. Anyone who looked at the smug satisfaction of Brock's face knew. Hell, he'd preen about it while lying right to your face. 

"Fuck 'em. They're nothing. And they know it." Brock had moved out of Jack's place. He moved into the barracks under SHIELD to be-- closer to the action. Closer to his  _pet_ project.

Jack's house was so empty, as empty as when Jack's mother had passed. He missed the way Brock smelled on his sheets, how he'd leave the cap off the toothpaste, how he'd make the worst pancakes on planet Earth on Sundays... So now, when he wanted to spend time with Brock-- it was in this fucking  _room._  Today was a hell of a day to pick, but Jack would rather have his teeth pulled out than mention why. 

"Do we have to--" Jack ducked the judgmental gaze of a tiny woman with piercing eyes, one of the cryo-techs. She walked by and Jack muttered, "Do we have to go in there?"

They all knew. They knew what Jack did in there with that  _thing._ It was just  _orders_. Brock was his CO, Jack was his second and he did what he was told, even if that meant taking a shower until the water ran cold while he scrubbed the blood off his cock. 

Brock looked up at Jack and smiled, kindly. "It's a mission debriefing. Yes, we have to go in there." He stepped close and put his hand on Jack's. "You're not getting squeamish, are you Big Guy? You've got my back, don't you?" He closed his eyes as Brock rubbed circles on his palm with his thumb.

"Always, Brock. But--"  Jack felt like an asshole, a selfish prick. Of course, he always had Brock's back, to hell and back. He needed him, he'd do anything Brock asked. That's what love was, _right_?

"But what?" Brock punched the code into the lock. The door opened with a hiss. "Get your pansy ass on in there, I don't have all day. Christ, you're acting like we're doing something _wrong_ here."

 _Weren't they_? Jack squashed that thought down deep in his mind like all the other traitorous little whispers that peeked out in his moments of weakness. He wasn't weak. He wasn't like that. So casting aside that doubt, he stepped inside the room and the door shut behind them. 

It was disturbingly silent inside the soundproofed room, Jack though he could hear heartbeats and the clank of buckles. Jack crossed his arms and leaned against the wall, his lip stuck out in a pout. The Asset sat on the metal bench, disarmingly placid, his hands upon his thighs. He was disarmed, but still in tactical gear and still fucking deadly. 

"Jack." Brock prompted, "Get over there and check him out. Field strip him." 

Jack sighed, too many fucking buckles and zippers. "You should have a medic do this. I'm Demolitions, remember?" He wasn't terrified of the task now. Once you'd had your cock up a guy, well, you saw him in a different light. The Winter Soldier was flesh and blood, just like any man who could kill you in 30 seconds flat.

Jack put his hands on both sides of the Asset's face and observed. Equal pupils, reactive, clear and bright. He looked up at Jack though his thick eyelashes and sighed in resignation. Jack knew how he felt. " _Sorry_." Jack whispered next to his ear, blocking Brock's sightline as he stripped off the body armor and harnesses. It was a hollow self-serving apology and the corner of the Asset's lips quirked in a faint smirk. Maybe it was better than getting a mindwipe, but even if the Asset couldn't remember what happened in here, Jack would never be able to forget it. 

But that didn't mean that he'd stop. 

Orders were orders. And soon every inch of the thing's pale, scarred flesh was on display. Damn, that arm looked like it hurt just dangling there.  "Are you good? You're-- um, within normal parameters?" Jack asked, _god that was a stupid question_. He nodded and Jack clapped him on the flesh shoulder. "A-Okay. Checks out." 

"Now,  _make friends._ " Brock ordered from behind Jack and Jack's lips compressed into a thin line. "Oh come on Jack." 

Make friends, he said. A spark of rebellion flicked up in Jack's gut. He couldn't disobey, but he could try to teach Brock a little lesson about forgetting important dates and being a total self-obsessed fuckhead.

Jack knelt down, grabbed the back of the Asset's head, wound his fingers in brown hair and kissed the Asset. It was a messy kiss, bumping teeth and questing tongues that left Jack gasping for breath. Who needed to fucking breathe, anyway? If he was gonna put on a show, he'd put on a damn good one. 

"That's it." Jack said in a raspy voice, "You feel so good, boy." He rubbed his thumb over the Asset's lips. "You wanna be good for me, don't you?" The Asset closed his eyes instead of answering, but it didn't matter. Jack pushed his thumb into those pink lips and ground his crotch against his legs. "I'm gonna fuck you so sweet, you'll remember it even after they strap you into that chair. You want to remember things that feel good, don't you?" Jack pulled his thumb out with a wet sound, stood and took off his t-shirt slowly. He felt Brock's eyes on his back. 

When he unbuckled his pants, the Asset leaned forward to assume the cock-sucking position he was so familiar with, but Jack put his hand on his shoulder. "No. On your hands and knees." The Asset glanced over at Brock, who must have nodded and then complied.

Velvety soft pale skin over hard muscle, Jack stroked the Asset's flesh with tender care. He knelt down and pressed his lips to that puckered flesh in the basest kiss of all. He licked, probed and sucked, saliva dripped down his chin and for a moment he forgot he had an audience. The Asset made soft whimpers and shivered beneath him, surely this felt good, felt perfect. He was going to be the best fuck this _thing_ had ever had. 

He slipped in two fingers and smiled at how open, wet and ready the Asset was. "Such a pretty little hole. It looks lonely. Does it need a friend?" Jack sat down on the bench, "You brought slick, right?" He held out his hand and didn't look at Brock even after the bottle slapped into his palm. "Oh you remembered _this_. Looks like you're not totally useless after all." Jack hissed while coating his cock with lube. Brock didn't retort, the only sound was his heavy, ragged breathing. 

"Get up here," Jack ordered, "You're gonna ride me. Take your pleasure, make it feel good." The Asset straddled his legs and Jack inhaled sharply as he penetrated the sloppy wetness. The Asset sat back and stared at Jack. It felt wonderful, so tight and sticky hot, but those blue eyes were steely with intent. He stared a hole through Jack's head and threatened to wilt Jack's erection. "Shut your eyes!" He ordered and thrust harder while shutting his own. He didn't want to be balls deep in this thing, but damned if he was going to lose it in front of Brock. "You love it. You know you do! You're my toy, my little fuck-toy! You're gonna come on my cock and fucking love it." He grabbed the cock bobbing in front of him and stroked it, coaxing out a moan from the killing machine. 

"Room for one more?" Brock's pants fell around his ankles and he crouched behind the Asset's bouncing cock-stuffed ass. Jack's vision whited out for a moment when Brock pushed his cock into the Asset, rubbed up against Jack's hardness and began thrusting. 

Brock pulled the Asset's head to the side with a fistful of hair so he could look right at Jack. "I knew you could do it, Big Guy." It was like the Asset didn't exist, Jack drowned in Brock's gaze as their cocks rubbed against each other. Jack reached up a tentative hand over the Asset's shoulder and Brock seized it, interlaced their fingers. That was too much for Jack, his cock jerked. He shuddered through his orgasm and felt Brock curse, "Fuck yeah," and joined him. The Asset's orgasm was an afterthought, Jack hardly noticed. Cum dribbled out upon the floor. 

Brock slapped the Asset on the shoulder. "Now." 

The Asset smiled with all of his teeth in a rictus grin. He said with an awful cheefulness, " _Happy Birthday, Jack_!" Jack's cock slipped out of his ass and Jack's mouth fell open. "Mission parameters satisfied. Ready for debrief."

"Good work soldier. Go clean up." Brock ruffled the Asset's messy hair and smiled in smug satisfaction. "You thought I forgot. You did." Brock laughed and after the Fist of Hydra got off Jack's lap, he moved in close. "You're such a girl. Ass lips." Brock kissed his cheek and Jack was stunned speechless. 

He looked over at the Asset with wide eyes and the assassin signed a single word at him. " _Sorry_."

 


	7. Chapter 7

_Mandatory Cultural Enrichment_. More like mandatory bullshit. Jack flipped through the course catalog. Smiling face after smiling face. That's because they were in the HR department and they didn't have to take these courses. They just pretended like they were back in college. College wasn't really an option for Jack at the time. But the military didn't really give a shit about Jack's average grades, so Jack didn't care. 

"I told you, I don't have to take a course. I have to  _teach_ one of the fucking things. No, it is not a cooking class. Why would you even say that, Murphy? Look, I'm hanging up. No. You cannot be in my class. It's fraternization. That's right. No. Westfahl can't take it either. I'm hanging up now. Now. Right now. Jesus christ--" Brock slammed his phone down on the table.

"You're not teaching a class. You're assisting. You're the guardian of the whiteboard. You're the teacher's bitch." Jack sipped on his coffee. "That's what you get for skipping out on seminar days. You've got yourself a reputation. What's the class again?"

" _Tolerance and Acceptance in the Workplace_." Brock snarled. "People are going to talk about their  _feelings_ and how we can all sit in a fucking circle around a campfire and sing hippie shit." 

"Sing me a few bars of  _Bridge Over Troubled Water._ Come on, you know you wanna." Jack smiled. It had been ages since they'd bantered like this. He missed it. 

"You're totally taking the damn class." Brock checked his phone to see if he'd cracked the screen again. "You've got my back, right?" 

"As much as I want to watch you squirm during the Powerpoint presentations about learning acceptance for the weakness of others, I think not." He scowled and looked for the least boring option. Pick your own goddamn poison. He paused for a moment.  _Deaf Culture: Learning the Signs_.

A pun, Jack rolled his eyes, but he didn't turn the page. Might as well have a leg up in the class. _Oh look, I'm already fluent, let me sleep in class_. He punched in his ID number in the HR kiosk and selected the course. Only half full. 

"What did you pick?" Brock asked suddenly over his shoulder, trying to startle him. "Deaf culture? Oh that's fucking cheating." He reached out to change the selection but Jack slapped his hand away. Brock's eyes narrowed for a moment at the challenge. Oh, it was on.

Jack smiled smugly, poking at Brock's ego. "You're just jealous. I get to be the star pupil, not the TA." He chuckled, "You couldn't hack this class." 

"I only know a few words in sign language." Brock extended his middle finger. "I'm a little foggy on this one." He shoved it in Jack's face, nearly up his nose. 

"That's because you're doing it wrong. You don't know shit about signing." Jack crossed his arms and looked down his nose at Brock. Yeah, that's right. I'm better than you at this. I'm special, not just your fucktoy, not just your second. Something defiant rose up in Jack's gut and snarled. "You're not always the best at everything, Brock." 

Brock wetted his lips with a quick swipe of his tongue, nodded and said, "Oh, I forgot. I know this one. Learned it in motel room after a funeral." He signed  _I love you_ flippantly and Jack blinked in shock. Brock shot a finger gun at him and clicked his tongue. "Looks like I got that right. See ya later, Big Guy. I've gotta go be all kind and sensitive."

Brock strutted from the room and Jack leaned against the kiosk in bewilderment. _He knew?_ All that time, he knew?  _Motherfucker._  He crumpled the catalog in his fist.

All that time, Brock knew. Jack didn't know whether to laugh or to cry, but really, what did that revelation matter? He was still Brock's second. He still knew the taste of that fucker's sweat, the feel of his skin under his fingertips. This changed nothing. Except... maybe Brock wouldn't have kissed him at that bar, if he hadn't known. If he hadn't been curious. Jack touched his lips and smiled. Maybe everything happened for a reason. 

But he still couldn't let Brock get away with that cocky shit, no. That would not stand. He was Brock's second, not his bitch. Not this time, anyway. He paced back and forth and then picked up his phone. His smile became more feral as he typed in a text.

 _Fuck me, Brock? No, fuck you_. 

\--

The expression on Brock's face was priceless, stunned and aghast. Jack took a discreet snapshot of him with his phone then he moved in for the kill. "What's wrong?" Jack asked, sweet as sugar. "You look terrible."

"My class filled up. There was a wait list so they added _four_  more sessions. I'm going to be in there all fucking week!" Brock wailed and ran his fingers through his hair, messing up the carefully styled strands. "And they're full of STRIKE. All the fucking squads, Jack! Every single last one of them!" Brock flopped down on a chair. " _Motherfucker._ "

Jack shook his head in sympathy, "I think there's like three other people in my class and they both work in the cafeteria." He patted Brock on the shoulder. "You'll do fine." He leaned in and added, "You're known for your kind and sensitive nature. You're the teacher's bitch." 

Brock was too distracted to notice the lilt in Jack's voice. "This really messes up my plans. I have a schedule to keep. And I can't get out of this shit without drawing attention-- Fuck!" He slammed his hand on the table and Jack smiled in self-satisfaction, until Brock looked up with a grin. "You! You can do it. You've got my back, don't you?" 

"Always." Jack said automatically, the words slipping from his lips without conscious thought.

"Good. Good. Because your--  _birthday present_ needs a baby-sitter." Brock stood up.

Jack scowled, "Oh fuck no." 

"Look, you've got my back or you don't. There's a reason I moved out, Jack. The present needs constant attention or it goes feral. Can you do this for me?" Brock begged, "If it goes pear-shaped, then we have to start from the fucking beginning, from bare ground, scorched earth,  _napalm_. There might not be any need for either of us to take these fucking classes if this gets cocked up! Do you get me?" Brock grabbed a handful of Jack's shirt. "I don't trust anyone else. I need you." 

And that was as simple as it needed to be. Jack nodded. "Sure. I'll do it for you." He added, "Because you asked. The present still gives me the creeps." 

"Is it because I didn't tie a ribbon bow around it? Did you need a card with kittens? Maybe some confetti shoved up there and a noisemaker? Aw fuck, it's because I forgot the cake, isn't it?" Brock relaxed and smoothed the fabric of Jack's shirt. "You're the only one I trust in this whole place. You know that, don't you?" He stroked the shirt rhythmically, calming himself. 

"Yeah." Jack almost felt guilty about setting Brock up. Almost. 

"I-- I'm not good for you." Brock looked at his shoes. "I'm not." 

Jack reached over and shut the door to the small lounge. "You gonna tell me that you're a bad, bad man? Maybe that I'm too good for you? Well, that's a load of horse-shit." He pressed Brock up against the door and mouthed at the skin of his throat. "I made my choice and I'll always choose you. Because I'm fucking stupid as hell and you're so goddamn beautiful." 

"I like it when you use your words, Jack. You sure you don't want to take my class? Laugh at me too?"

"I want you to look at all those fuckers in that room like they're dogshit. You own that classroom. Make them learn something. If the teacher's not commanding their respect, then you will." Jack bit on the soft flesh of Brock's earlobe. "You're fucking Alpha Squad, Commander. And you don't take any shit from those low-rank piss-boys."

He kissed Brock hungrily and dragged his teeth down the inside of Brock's pouty lower lip. "I don't let anyone else touch me because they're not _you._ They're not worthy. So you show them who is in charge, even in that joke of a class. Make 'em wish they were back in basic with their sweet kind old drill sergeants." 

"I'll be so fucking tolerant they'll award me the Nobel Peace Prize." Brock breathed with a chuckle. "Twice." For a few moments, Jack held Brock tightly, closer than he had in a long time, then Brock pushed him away. "Lay off, Big Guy. I got this. I got this." 

"I know." Jack combed the stray strands of hair back into Brock's coiffure. Such a mess.

"But when I find out who set this up, he's a dead man." Brock punched his fist into the palm of his hand. 

"Or dead woman. Or dead person. Can't be all hung up on genders, Brock." Jack chided. 

Brock flipped him off. Jack signed the only other sign-language phrase that they both knew. And after a few long heartbeats, Brock signed it back. 


	8. Chapter 8

Jack felt curious eyes upon his back. The techs were watching him closely and without Brock's presence to shield him from their judgmental gaze, Jack shifted uneasily in his boots. He wasn't doing anything wrong. Not this time. He turned around sharply and they flinched away from him. _That's right you assholes, you should be afraid of me._ It was all puffed up bravado, a charade of courage that he needed to face what was in that room, alone.

How feral was the Asset? How much did Brock need to do to keep him in line, in perfect working order? Brock's instructions had been frustratingly vague: Perform the standard debrief and operations report. Don't leave the room for at least an hour. Report any deviations in behavior or violent outbursts. _And have fun!_

 _Have fun_? Fuck no. Jack typed in the code to the door. The pneumatic locks hissed and he stepped through, the door shut behind him. The shirtless Asset sat on his metal bench and looked up through his lank hair. An eyebrow raised in an unspoken question. 

"Report! Are you within normal operating parameters?" Jack barked, his voice steadier than he had hoped. He what this man tasted like, knew how he smelled glistening with sweat and semen, but Jack was under no illusion that they were friends. Especially after how much time with Brock had been stolen away from Jack, no, they weren't anything close to friends.

 _I bet Brock never said I love you to this thing._ He held that precious thought close, cherished it like a miser. 

"Affirmative." Then a pause. "Where is the Commander?" His hands curled loosely on his thighs. They were clad in wrinkled thin institutional blue cotton pants. Like the clothing you'd find in a hospital or mental ward. 

Jack squared his shoulders. "He is on a mission. You will obey my orders until his return, do you understand?" 

A nod. Jack fought the urge to exhale a sigh of relief. The Asset didn't seem to be wild or unpredictable. Maybe whatever Brock did had tamed the savage beast. Fuck that man for not giving better intel. "Good. Now--" Jack stammered, "Do whatever you would do next with the Commander." 

The Asset dropped to his hands and knees. Jack grabbed his stun baton handle out of pure startled reflex. He slinked across the floor, his muscles rippling from the fluid motion. His metal fingers clinked against the concrete as he stalked Jack. He flattened himself against the floor and licked a wet stripe over the toe of Jack's neatly polished boot. Jack's cock stirred in spite of himself. He anointed the other toe cap with wet kisses, the sounds obscene in the silence of the room. 

His face was covered by his hair and he leaned back on his knees, ran his hand down his bare chest. He dragged his nails down his pale skin leaving pink parallel welts. The Asset's fingers slipped down the waistband of his pants and he pulled the elastic askew. The tip of his cock peeked out from the pants and he grabbed himself roughly. 

He ran his shiny silver fingers through his hair, combed it back from his face and looked up at Jack with wet open lips and vacant blue eyes. A pantomime of passion.

Jack thought about seedy strip clubs and women working too hard for tips as silver fingers walked up his thigh and played with the zipper of his trousers.  _This_ was what Brock wanted? His lip curled in disgust and he brushed the questing fingers away from his painfully hard cock. "We're not doing _that_." 

The Asset sat back on his heels, his half-hard cock bobbing over the elastic of his waistband. "Have I failed the mission, sir? Will I be punished?"  The man was a shadow of a real person, wiped and erased, no real sense of self. The perfect weapon, the ultimate puppet. For a moment, Jack felt the uncomfortable cramping of shame deep in his gut. 

"No-- _Jesus_. Put that away." He shook his head. "No-- is that what you do every time?" He asked out of morbid curiosity. 

"First the Commander debriefs me, then he paces the room's length approximately thirty times while complaining about various incidents in the work day and finally, declares that he is bored. And then, I perform the various maneuvers he has taught me until he is satisfied. This has occurred 72 times since the time I was taken out of cryo-sleep." _Huh_. Brock did have a pattern, didn't he? Jack smiled to himself at the pacing and declaration of boredom.  

"Does he-- does the Commander talk about me?" 

"No." Well, _fuck_. That stung.

Jack's face must have fallen because the Asset added in a curious aside, "He does say your name often during orgasm, however. He does not complain of boredom when you assist him. Any further details warranted, sir?" His tone was softer than Jack had heard before. 

Jack shook his head. "No. Just-- Just stay over there. I've got reading to do." 

"Affirmative." The Asset returned to his bench. "I await your orders." 

For the rest of the hour they sat in silence on the bench while Jack read his book from the deaf culture seminar. He put the pages on his lap and ran his fingers through the signs. There was comfort in these gestures, it made him nostalgic for home and simpler times when he didn't have to contemplate love and loyalty, when he had no idea that the whole world was corrupt to the core. Sometimes you had to cauterize the bleeding and lance the infection. That's what he was a part of, HYDRA was the cure for the disease rotting America from within. 

The beep of his phone startled Jack. He looked over at the Asset, who stared off into the distance with half-lidded eyes. _Creepy_. Jack snapped his fingers. "Hey! Attention!" 

"Are you bored now, sir?" The Asset leaned close to Jack, licked his lips and Jack swallowed hard. He could see the pulse throbbing in the weapon's neck. It would be so easy to press his lips to that sweet pale skin and suck in a pattern of purple bruises. He reached up a tentative hand and brushed his fingertips against the skin. 

"N- no." He stammered out and took back his hand. The Asset nodded and returned to staring into the distance. "That's all. You're relieved, Soldier." Jack stood up and walked to the door. "Hail HYDRA," he added, because he needed the reminder of exactly what he was working for, what he was fighting for. History would remember him as a hero. He was sure of that. 

"Hail HYDRA." The Asset responded dully and curled up into a ball upon his metal bench. The techs would be around to escort him to his cell-- to his _enclosure_. 

As Jack closed the door he heard the Fist of HYDRA, the legendary assassin, say in a small, very child-like voice, " _Thank you, sir."_

Jack walked to the mens' bathroom across the hall as the techs stared, locked the door and retched noisily into the toilet. He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, stood up and punched the wall.

He stomped out of the bathroom, his mouth swimming with bile, his knuckles bleeding and hissed, "What are you looking at?" to the woman with sharp-eyes. He didn't wait for her answer, he already knew.  _Nothing._

 


	9. Chapter 9

_Well that was fucking stupid._ Jack flexed his bruised fingers. They ached under the bandages. He was lucky he hadn't broken anything. _Like Brock's neck._  The thought bubbled up and Jack pushed it back down. 

He'd managed to make it through the meaningless chores of the workday without incident, but his mind was still back in that room without cameras... _the room without consequences_... What a fucking joke that was.

He splashed water on his face and forced himself to look into the mirror. He held his own gaze for a few heartbeats and then looked away. He still had the rest of the week. He had responsibilities. Orders were orders. The inside of his mouth tasted like cigarette ashes. He hadn't smoked since his father passed. 

Jack shook his head, squared his shoulders, "Quit it. Stop acting like a pansy. Get in there and do your job, soldier." It wasn't much of a pep talk, but it was all he could give. 

The pneumatic doors hissed open and Jack stepped inside. The Asset sat as he always did on the metal bench. "Report. Are you within--" Jack didn't bark the order, he bit on his lip and finished lamely, "Are you okay?" 

He looked up at Jack through his hair and Jack was struck by how young this terrible weapon really was. The legacy of the cryosleep, Sleeping Beauty in the flesh. "I am operating within normal parameters, sir. What are your orders?" 

Jack shook his head. "Scoot over." And he sat down on the bench. He took a deck of cards out of his pocket and pulled the rubber band off the battered case with a snap. "Do you know how to play Go Fish?" The Asset shook his head. "Old Maid?" Another denial. "Poker?" And a slow, tentative nod. "Well alright then. Best out of eleven hands. Jokers are wild and I've got a prize for the winner." 

"What kind of prize?" He sounded suspicious, Jack couldn't blame him.

Jack fished in his pocket and put a package of pink bubblegum cubes on the bench. "Bubble gum. You do know what that is, don't you?" Jack figured that you couldn't do any harm with bubble gum, it wouldn't fuck with the Asset's special diet and frankly, he had good memories of the sweet chewy texture from his own childhood. When did he start thinking of the legendary assassin of HYDRA as child-like? That was just _messed_ _up_. 

The Asset picked up the bubble gum, examined it carefully, inhaled the scent and said firmly, "Deal me in." 

Jack shuffled the cards, they whirred between his fingers. "Cut." The Asset neatly cut the deck and Jack dealt the hand. His cards were utter shit, but he kept his face carefully neutral.

The Asset's hair hung down in a curtain over his face and Jack huffed out an exasperated sigh. "Nope. No hiding behind the hair. That's cheating." He plucked the rubber band from his pocket and set down his hand.

"I'm just going to pull your hair back, don't hurt me, okay? I've already fucked up this hand, I don't need any help with the other." He stood over the Asset and combed back his hair with thick fingers. He'd just gotten a shower, the strands were damp and smelled like floral chemicals. He wound the rubber band around his hair and sat back down. " _There_. Now I can see your face and call your bluff--"

The Asset was weeping. Tears trickled down his cheeks. He looked very confused as to what was happening to his eyes. Probably not as confused as Jack felt though, his mouth fell open like a trout's.

 _I did not sign up for this shit,_ Jack thought and he picked up his cards. "Those must be some seriously shitty cards. I _call_." And he laid down his miserable pair of fours. He lost to triple sevens. "Huh. Dealer loses. Round two." If he ignored the tears, then they didn't happen. They just didn't happen.

Jack lost hand after hand. It wasn't that his cards were terrible, but after the tears dried on his cheeks, the Asset's face shut down into stony blankness. Who the fuck taught this guy how to play poker? You couldn't tell a bluff on a catatonic face. Not a single tell. His eyes didn't even blink at a different rate. But not this time. Jack had a full house. 

"There's no way you're beating this hand. You can't beat me this time." Jack gloated. 

"Call." Was the single response. And Jack laid down his cards with a flourish. 

"Full House. Nines high." 

"Four of a kind. Deuces." And he reached out and took the bubble gum. He held it close as if he were afraid that it would be taken away. Jack snorted and gathered up the deck. 

"If you ever get tired of killing people kid, you've got a future in Vegas." Jack watched as he opened the pack, took out a cube, unwrapped it and set the cube on his tongue. He slowly chewed, closing his eyes reverently. Jack looked away, flushed. "Okay, just don't get that in your hair. The techs already hate me." The Asset nodded, drew his knees up to his chest and chewed. 

Jack looked at his watch and got out his book. He had a few minutes to kill. That hadn't gone badly at all, he complimented himself. Yeah, he had skills. Brock would have never thought to-- his injured fist clenched. _Get a hold of yourself, idiot_. 

A snap. The Asset was blowing bubbles. Snap. Jack turned the pages of his book. He looked up in astonishment, because the Asset _giggled_. And a fleeting smile, quick as a thought crossed his lips. It made him look even younger. 

"Now now, don't go _too_ crazy." Jack chided and went back to his book. Yeah, this was okay. He could handle this. 

Bubble-gum scented breath hot on his cheek. "Are you _bored_ , sir?"

 

 

 

 


	10. Chapter 10

"Are you _bored_ , sir?" Four little words that sent a shiver down Jack's spine. He stared at the pages of his book, clutching it like a totem. Sweet hot breath on his cheek, promising pleasure. He could waste hours kissing those pink lips, lose himself and forget some of the things he'd done...  _Well, Brock did tell him to have fun._..

The thought of Brock shocked Jack out of his fantasy. He wasn't going to cheat on Brock, even if the smug bastard didn't think anything about catting around on him. He was loyal, if he didn't have that, what did he have? What the fuck was he doing? 

"Well, I  _was_ enjoying my book." Did his voice crack? No, no, he was fine. He was cool. Oh god, take a breath, just breathe, you fucking idiot. 

The Asset propped his chin on Jack's shoulder, the heat of his body searing through Jack's clothing. Should have worn the fucking armor, damn it. Even that metal arm seemed hotter than it should have. "Is it a good book?" 

"Yeah, I-- I guess?" Jack couldn't have told anyone what the hell it was about at that moment. "There's-- words." 

"Books have words." The Asset pivoted and set his back against Jack, "Words are nothing." He snapped his gum and pulled his knees up to his chest. "Actions matter."

"I guess." Jack couldn't really disagree with that. He tried to look at the words and make them mean something. He squinted. "But I was enjoying my book. Just like you were enjoying your gum." 

"They'll take it away from me." Softly, "Everything gets taken away from me." 

Jack couldn't help it, even when he knew that this was the thing that people feared lurking in the dark, he couldn't stop from asking, "How about I keep it safe for you?"

The Asset turned and stared intensely at Jack, clutching the gum to his bare chest. "What-- what do I have to do?"

"Nothing? I mean, you should probably give it to me, but I'll keep it safe for you." Jack offered, pinned in place by wide blue eyes. Jesus, what a weaker man would do... Jack swallowed, suddenly a bit more aware of his uncomfortably swelling groin. Brock would never know. He'd be fine with it. Really, he'd expect nothing less. _No, I would know_.

"I'll bring it back tomorrow. Okay?" The Asset gravely extended his hand and placed the packet of bubblegum on Jack's palm, he was following orders again. He didn't trust a damn thing that Jack said. "I meant what I said. I'll keep it safe. It's our _secret_." Jack hazarded a smile. 

"Our secret?" The Asset's eyes glinted and in an instant he was no longer remotely soft. How many men had seen their lives end in the reflection of those eyes? "There are _no_ secrets from HYDRA." 

Jack's alarm beeped and he stood up, placed the gum in his pocket slowly. "I hope you're not calling me a liar, son. Better swallow that, so the techs don't take it from you." The Asset curled in upon himself, stared at the wall. Was this an anomaly that needed to be reported? What the fuck was normal about any of this?

"Everything." The Asset chanted softly under his breath as he savored the last few chews of the now flavorless and tough gum. Jack saw his throat move as he swallowed. "Everything."  

\--

The door slid open with a pneumatic hiss. The Asset looked up from his bench, but did not move. Jack didn't ask if he was okay. Instead he walked over and extended his hand. In his palm was an opened packet of bubblegum. The Asset blinked in disbelief and plucked it from Jack's hand. 

Jack shrugged and sat down on the bench beside the Asset. He took out his book and began to read. He'd gotten to deaf culture in the mid 1960's when he heard the tap of a metal finger upon the bench. He looked down and saw a cube of gum next to him. The Asset was looking away, pointedly at the ceiling. 

Jack smiled and picked up the offering. He peeled off the paper and placed it in his mouth. A few chews softened it up and he blew a bubble as big as his face. It popped and caught on his nose. The Asset laughed, a short trill of delight and then choked it back, as if he was showing weakness. Jack put the gum back in his mouth and went back to reading. 

He felt the Asset shift position, he reclined and rested his head up against Jack's thigh. He was using Jack as a pillow. Jack blew another bubble to cover his shock and looked down past the pages in his hands. The Asset was staring at him, languidly silent. Jack turned a page and concentrated on the sentence that he read ten times in a row. 

After endless minutes, Jack held his book in one hand and with the other he slowly stroked the soft locks in his lap. Petting the assassin like a kitten. He was truly fucking insane. The strands wound about his fingers and he felt the Asset give a shuddering sigh. Was it relief that Jack wasn't ramming his dick down his throat? Was it an involuntary reaction to an act of simple kindness, a casual intimacy?  

Jack didn't know. He was making this shit up as he went along and was just happy to keep breathing. Only one more day. One more day and then-- then Brock would be here. 

And there would be no more bubblegum. 


	11. Chapter 11

The doors opened with a sleek hiss. The Asset looked up from his metal bench with a vague hint of a smile. It was the last day.

Jack wasn't sure if he was ready to abandon this mission or not. _Surely, Brock could be reasonable, he could work through this._

That thought was sour in his mouth. Hell, what was there to work through? The Asset didn't even have a name, he was a mind-wiped weapon, not a person. No matter what those dark-shadowed eyes pleaded. But what had Jack joined HYDRA for, if not to protect the the innocent? He was a hero, damn it. He was on the side of the angels-- and-- and--. Jack didn't like feeling helpless. It made his fists itch. 

One moment at a time. The Asset had been good so far, good boys deserved treats. Jack held up a finger against his lips and the Asset tilted his head in curiosity. Another secret?

Jack unscrewed the plastic cap and pulled out a wand. He pursed his lips and blew softly. Shimmery iridescent bubbles fell from the wand and Jack watched the Asset swat at them like a dangerous cat. Jack caught one on the end of his wand and blew a double bubble. He smiled at the simple beauty of something brief and fragile. 

He blew more bubbles and the Asset stood up, caught one on the tip of his finger and smiled underneath his hair. Jack raised his eyebrow and puckered his mouth for another volley of bubbles, when the Asset, quick as a heartbeat, stepped close. Jack dropped the wand back into the soapy solution in surprise, the small bottle fell to the floor and the Asset pressed his lips against Jack's.

 _No_. _He wasn't like that._  He was loyal. No... It was too easy. So easy to surrender to that sweetness. No one would ever know.

It was easy to miss the sound of the door when his pulse thundered in his ears, when the Asset panted up into his mouth. 

"Well, well, well. Getting started without me, are you?" Brock said from behind them. Jack pushed the Asset away from him roughly with both hands. The assassin stumbled back ungracefully and sat on the bench. The Asset looked at the floor, at the bubble solution splattered on the concrete. Brock snorted. 

"You're done early." Jack wiped at his mouth with the back of his hand. "Thought you'd be pretending to be the teacher until tomorrow."

"Yeah, the instructor got a sudden case of stomach flu. Nasty stuff. Might have had something to do with that cup of coffee I got him." Brock smiled in self-satisfaction. "Anyway, once I let my students know that Fury had given me permission to reassign the squad with the lowest scores to Panama, I had their total fucking attention."

"Did Fury really say that?" Jack looked at his boots.

"Fuck no. But that's on a need to know basis, right?" Brock yawned. "So, I see you've been-- keeping busy." Brock nudged the bubble bottle with his toe and raised his eyebrows. "I don't even wanna know, you kinky bastard."

"It's not like that." Jack protested. How could he explain? 

"Sure, sure." Brock pushed past Jack and barked, "Assume the position!" The Asset wordlessly sank to his knees, his mouth open with his eyes closed tightly shut. Jack swallowed hard as Brock unzipped his trousers. He couldn't just watch this time. Things had changed. He had changed. He was one of the good guys for fucks' sake.

Jack put his hand on Brock's arm and said softly, "No." 

Brock looked at him in confusion and shrugged off his hand. "What the fuck, Jack?" The Asset opened up his eyes and watched in bewilderment as Jack bit his lip and shifted his weight from foot to foot.

"No. You're-- We're not going to do that to him anymore." Jack looked down at the kneeling Asset, "He-- responds better to other things." Simple things. Not dick ramming. Although he was a good fuck, if you were into catatonic flesh-blobs. But now, with the flashes of humanity, the tiny glimpses of wants and needs, well Jack wasn't going to do the same old shit anymore. 

"Like bubbles? You fucking pussy." Brock sneered. "Assume the position!" The Asset looked back and forth between Jack and Brock, confused. 

"No!" Jack stepped in front of the Asset, blocked him with his body. "I said, no more!" 

"You're going to get in my face about this shit, Jack?" Brock said with quiet menace. He tilted his chin up and didn't back down an inch. He pointed at the Asset. "You've had your cock in it lots of times. You didn't complain then. I leave you alone for a week and you get all fucking _soft_."

Brock reached around Jack and took a fistful of the Asset's hair. He pulled him up, slapped his hand against the Asset's face. Blue eyes stared through Jack. "It's a weapon. A thing. We keep it functioning so it can go out there and do it's job. That's it. It's not a pet. It's not your fucking _boyfriend_." He let go of the Asset's hair and shook his head in disgust. 

"Yeah, well, neither are you." Jack hissed. He was tired of having to be everything at Brock's whim. "Not any more."

"What that fuck does that mean?" Brock shoved Jack and Jack shoved him back. "You asshole!" 

"You moved out!" Jack cried out, "You moved out to be here with him and you left me. I'm just your emergency backup plan. You've always got at least two exits planned, remember? And I'm just one of those. You don't care about me! It's always about you, Brock! Always!" It was satisfying to watch Brock's face crinkle with confusion and doubt. But the sadness, that was new. And disquieting. 

"I moved out because it's like an hour commute and I have to be in this fucking room every goddamned night! Do you think I wanted to sleep in those barracks? They smell like Westfahl's socks. Do you think I really wanted to sleep on that mattress stuffed with rocks? And eat shitty food from the commissary? Did you think I didn't miss you? Why would I bring you here, if I didn't miss your ugly face?" Brock kicked the bubble bottle. " _Fuck_! You prick." Brock punched Jack in the shoulder. "You're not going to replace me because I'm fucking inconvenient, you asshole!"

"You replaced me. With him." Jack didn't believe all of that. It was too simple, too easy. "I've seen you fuck other people, I'm not that special. You'd bend over for Cap in a heartbeat and you've been balls deep in him more than than seventy times!" Jack pointed at the Asset. "If you loved me, you wouldn't be such a douchebag! And you wouldn't bring me in here to fuck him too!" 

"It is not a person, Jack." Brock threw up his hands and gritted his teeth in frustration. "How many times do I have to tell you that? I don't care about him. I care about the mission and not getting a fucking bullet in my brain for fucking it up! Fuck your feelings, you jealous prick! I thought you had my back!" 

"Always." Jack set his jaw and crossed his arms. "But we're not doing that to him any more." They sized each other up and Jack felt his face flush as Brock looked him over hungrily. He did like to fight before he fucked, oh yes. Jack felt himself stirring as old patterns and behaviors reasserted themselves. It had been far, far too long since they'd done anything like this. Rough and demanding. Jack licked his lips and Brock caught the motion. 

He narrowed his hooded eyes and said in a low throaty purr, "I have had a very, very long week and I am getting my dick wet one way or another. Are you gonna take his place? Are you gonna be my little bitch again?" Brock grabbed Jack's chin and smirked. 

"If I have to." Jack answered. God it felt good to be the focus of Brock's attention. He craved it in ways that he'd never admit to anyone. His nascent feelings for the Asset were pushed aside by Brock's charismatic attentions. 

"If you have to." Brock laughed, a harsh bark. "Like I  _make_  you suck me off. You're so hungry for my cock, you prick. Been drooling for it ever since we met. I saw you looking at me, you're not smooth. I knew you were craving this. Get down there." Brock grabbed a handful of Jack's shirt and pulled. Tiny stitches tore in the seams. "On your knees." He kicked at the backs of Jack's legs and Jack fell gratefully down.

Brock said in his ear, "You're _mine_. I've put too much time into you to just throw you away, so you're going to learn your lesson this time. This time, you're going to obey. Or I'm gonna make you _disappear_ \--" The Asset sprang to life and pinned Brock against the wall with his unyielding metal hand. He squeezed and Brock croaked out a rattling breath. 

Jack lurched over and clutched at the Asset's arm, "It's okay. It's okay. Let him down, I said let him down!" He nodded and released Brock, who slid down the wall gasping. His throat was already purpling with bruises and the Asset was staring at him with steely intent. Jack wanted to help Brock up, but instead he held on to the Asset and murmured, "It's fine. It's okay. It's okay."

After a bit, Brock said in a raspy whisper, " _Christ_! Jack, what did you do? We have to report this." 

"Do we?" Jack asked, still holding the Asset against his body. "Do we really?" 

"Yeah! He just fucking attacked me and I'm his Commander. This is all fucked up, Jack." Brock rubbed his throat.

Jack asked the Asset, "What were your reasons for attacking the Commander?" He could guess.

"He was-- going to make you disappear. They take everything away from me." Jack sighed and the Asset clutched his arm painfully tight. "But not _you_."

He could work with this. Save the whole fucked up mission. "So, you'll do what I say?" 

"Yes." A simple answer, no lies or guile.

"Then I'm ordering you to listen to the Commander. If you don't, they'll take me away from you. There will be no more poker, no more gum." The Asset looked stricken and Jack felt a bit guilty. But it was the truth. "If you comply, I'll be here. We'll have fun." Jack hazarded a smile. "Promise."

"No more dancing?" The Asset looked at Brock, suspiciously.

"Not unless you want to. Do you like music?" 

"I don't know." The Asset frowned.

"Well, do what I say and we'll find out. Okay?" A nod. As good as gold. "There's a good boy." Jack ruffled his hair fondly. He smiled at Brock, who was still on the floor. "I don't think we have to report anything now, do we?" 

Brock shrugged. "I guess not. If you're going to be here instead of me, then I'm moving back in. You got a problem with that?"

Jack's heart leapt up in his chest and he shook his head. "No. Missed your snoring."

"I don't snore." Brock zipped up his trousers and Jack offered him a hand up. The Asset clung to his other side and watched Brock with suspicion.

"Liar." Jack said and kissed Brock's forehead. Then, just to be fair, kissed the Asset's as well. Once Project Insight went live, Jack had some sweet little fantasies involving both of them in his great big bed. Brock needed some of that sass fucked right out of him and Jack bet that he could convince the Asset to do it for him. "I've got plans for you. Both of you."   

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ARGH  
> TELL ME. DID IT SUCK?


	12. Chapter 12

"Remind me, why am I out in the field  _again_?" Jack rubbed his sand-crusted nose on the back of his filthy hand as he peered out into the desert night with his night-vision goggles. Grains of sand crunched between his teeth as he spoke and he wasn't going to think about how much sand was in the sweaty crack of his ass. 

Brock whispered beside him, "Because the murder-wizard won't play if you're not around now." He smirked with tight lips. "You did this to yourself. Now cut the chatter, _hero_." They waited until the target's convoy appeared. "Showtime."

It was too far. There was no way that anyone could make that shot, murder-wizard or not. They'd have to wait until the target got closer, that would that days, if not  _weeks_ of surveillance-- The target's head exploded in a chunky mist. Jack blinked in shocked awe. "Holy fuck!"

Brock raised his eyebrows. "Told ya. I still can't figure out how he can do that every damn time. So I just call it _magic_. Now watch, this is where it gets _fun_."

Jack's mouth hung open as the Asset moved like an unstoppable force of nature through the rest of the convoy. A ballet of brutality. It was  _terrifying._ It was  _glorious._  

"Copy that." Brock tapped his earpiece and patted Jack on the shoulder. "It's great having you here Jack."

Jack blinked. "What?"

"I said, it's great having you here." They moved towards the extraction site. The Asset met them there, coated in the lives of the men in the convoy. His hair dripped red down his cheeks. He stank of death and when he saw Jack, he smiled with neat white teeth. Brock shook his head in satisfaction as the Asset leaned his sticky forehead against Jack's shoulder. "Because you get the clean up duty. He doesn't want anyone else to do it. _Hero_." 

\--

Jack looked into the tiled room. "So, you want me to clean him up in the same room that we use to waterboard terrorists?" He gestured at the hose and spoke to himself, "Is that even heated? No. No. No." That would not stand. 

Jack stomped out and pointed at a group of techs. "Where's your locker room? You have to have one on this floor." He stared down at them with his hands on his hips. He was tired, caked in sand and didn't have time for this shit. One of them looked like him might start to argue with Jack, so he rubbed his thumb over the latch of his sidearm holster. 

The sharp-eyed woman spoke in a resigned tone, "Fourth door down on the left." She looked behind him at the blood-caked Asset. "Locker 54. Soap in there. Take a biohazard bag for his gear." She handed him a thick red plastic bag, then she went back to her work. Jack motioned to the Asset to follow him, just like a well-trained dog.

"Just, just get in the stall." Jack said, exasperated. Brock was already on his way home to his hot shower and soft bed. He'd probably eat potato chips and get crumbs in the sheets. The scent of the Asset lodged in his nostrils and Jack gagged. "Damn. You stink. Strip."

Jack turned his back and looked for locker 54. He opened the latch. This was a woman's locker, was it hers? He grabbed a large bottle of something pink that promised bouncy hair and moisturized younger skin. He popped the top and sniffed. "Papaya Coconut Dream Fusion." Not bad? "Let's get you clean, then you can eat and--" Jack stopped. "Why aren't you undressed, soldier?" 

The Asset leaned, his face pressed against the cool tile. Half-lidded eyes stared out at Jack and he thought about how easily those metal fingers had ripped out a throat earlier. "Want you to do it." 

Jack blew a raspberry with his lips. "Too tired huh? Whatever." He took off his sidearms, put them in the locker. He knew the latches, buckles and buttons of the Asset's gear well.  _Too well._  The sooner he got the stink off the Asset the sooner he could get home and scrub out all the sand between his toes. He started with the radio collar around his neck, tugged at it. The stupid latch was caked with gore.  _  
_

"No." The Asset leaned into his touch. "Not too tired." He closed his eyes and Jack rolled his in irritation. 

"Then help me. Damn it, I'm tired too." The latch finally gave and Jack tossed it into the biohazard bag. 

" _No_." Jack raised an eyebrow at the teasing tone in the Asset's voice. He started on the weapon's harness. He'd feel better about this whole stinky situation if the Asset was disarmed. That was going to take a while. There were a lot of weapons. Jack looked at a small tactical knife, the tip was broken off, probably buried deep in a poor bastard's skull. 

"I think you just like saying no." Jack finally got the torso armor off and frowned at the disgusting mess of his t-shirt. He used the broken knife to slice off the stiff fabric. "You didn't have to _roll_ in it." The Asset shrugged and hummed a low, soft tune under his breath. He lifted his arms, pliant as a child and Jack pulled off what remained of his shirt. "You get your own boots and pants, I'm not bending over with these knees." 

Jack put the bloody gear into the biohazard bag and when he looked up, the Asset was standing above him, bare as the day he was born. "Better. Now get back in the stall. That's an order, soldier."

"Join me." The invitation was tempting, but Jack was in no mood to dally.

"I don't have a change of clothes. Get your ass in that shower." He stood up and looked down at the Asset who dipped his head in submission, his hair hiding his face and took three easy steps back into the shower stall. "That's better." Jack reached out, leaned into the stall and turned on the shower head. "It's going to be cold at first, but it will warm up and here's the soap, I want you to really lather up--" 

And the Asset reached out with his metal hand, grabbed a fistful of Jack's trousers' waistband and pulled Jack into the shower with him. "What the fuck!" Jack sputtered and his anger quickly turned into fear as the Asset started laughing, a high hysterical giggling. Why didn't he have back up? Why? He'd been so proud of his control of the Asset, so confident. Jack shrank back against the tiled wall, his clothing soaked.

"Wash. My. Hair." The Asset pushed back against Jack, pinning him with his body against the tiled wall. His pert backside ground against Jack's crotch and the smell of blood and gore was hot and wet in Jack's nose. His irritation overcame his fear, the Asset was being a huge pain in the ass.

Jack squeezed out a glob of soap into his hand, clicked the latch shut and the bottle dropped to the floor. He pushed the Asset's head under the shower spray and when it was wet, lathered up the brown locks roughly. The water ran red, then pink down the drain. Jack forgot how wet and irritated he was as the Asset ground his ass back against him in a slow, easy bump and grind. He hummed the whole time, groaning with delight when Jack's fingers scrubbed against his scalp. 

After he rinsed out the Asset's hair for a second time, Jack combed it back from his face and he turned around, his pupils wide and dark. His cock was hard and needy. Jack was struck with sudden inexplicable embarrassment, it was just a shower for fucks sake. He looked up at the ceiling and pointed at the Asset's dick. "Oh, _okay_ then. So-- take care of that and we'll get you dried off and-" His words died in his throat as the Asset ripped the button off of his sopping wet trousers and pulled out his cock. 

The Asset picked up the soap and squeezed a gob of it out into his flesh palm. He hummed as he gathered Jack's cock against his own and with slow, steady strokes jerked them both off. It was wet, messy and the scent of papaya swirled about Jack's head. He let his head flop back against the tiled wall and surrendered to the pleasure. He deserved something nice, didn't he?

After he came with a hard gasp, the Asset followed, his fist was coated in semen. He rinsed off under the shower and then stepped to the side, the full blast of the shower caught Jack in the chest. And the hot water ran out. 

Jack looked at himself in the mirror across from the stall. He was drenched, his hair flopped over and dripping on to his sodden t-shirt. His pants were barely hanging on his hips, the button ripped off and his flaccid cock hanging out. Thank god he'd taken off his sidearms before starting this whole shitshow. The Asset was humming still. He handed Jack a towel and smiled as he dried his hair. 

"I hope you're fucking happy. I'm a _mess_." jack complained. His boots squelched. The Asset tilted his head, picked up the broken knife from the pile of gear and quick as a thought, slit Jack's shirt up the middle. "Well thanks for  _that._ Now what am I gonna wear?" The Asset pointed at an open locker.

Jack wrapped the purloined white lab coat around himself and the Asset followed him out to the tech station. Jack looked at the floor as the sharp-eyed tech gave him the once over. "I had-- some logistical trouble. You know how it is, right? And-- I owe you some new shampoo."

"All in one shampoo, conditioner and body wash." She corrected and sniffed. "You smell lovely."

Jack felt a flush rise from his chest, up his throat and burned the tips of his ears. It wasn't made any better by the Asset leaning his chin upon Jack's shoulder, wrapped only in a towel. The Asset blew once in his ear and then said with utter satisfaction, "Mission objective complete."  

 

 


	13. Chapter 13

Jack drove on auto-pilot, simmering in his own rage. _Fucking Brock._  

Hadn't Jack made it clear that there wasn't going to be any more of that shit? Hadn't he used his words? He felt sick. Sick about what happened, even sicker that he enjoyed it. Hell, for a moment he'd thought that the Asset had done it out of his own free will. That was okay. _Wasn't it_?

If you were gonna start treating someone as a person, then you had to respect their choices, no matter how fucked up they might be. Maybe it wasn't possible with the Asset though, maybe he was too far gone. Mind-washed and brain-bleached too many times to retain a hint of personality.

That brought up more questions. Uncomfortable questions about loyalty to an organization that would condone such a thing. Jack shook his head. It was all Brock's fault. That was easier to think about because it was _true_. 

He parked in the driveway and walked up to the front door still wearing wet pants, soaked boots and a white lab coat over his bare chest. He rang the doorbell. Brock answered, bare chested in his tight black boxer briefs. He leaned against the doorframe with crossed arms, looked Jack over with a smirk and frank appreciation. "Well hello Doctor. I didn't know you did housecalls. I've been feeling this deep ache in my nuts, like I need some urgent attention. What do you think, Doctor?" 

Jack balled up his fist. "I think you better have that jaw looked at first. Looks painful." Brock looked confused and Jack punched him in the face. Brock sprawled backwards on his ass and Jack stomped inside, slamming the door behind him. He opened the freezer and took out an ice pack. He threw it in Brock's lap. "I'll send you my bill." 

It took a few minutes for Brock to follow him to the bathroom, Jack finally took off his boots and pants. He felt like burning them. "So what's eating you?" 

"You really have to ask?" The familiarity of his own bathroom was comforting and he grabbed the only soap in the shower, some of Brock's shitty AXE wash to mask the scent of coconut papaya. Brock waited until after he rinsed off and threw a towel in his face. 

"Welcome to the Special Ops squad. Looks like you passed the hazing with flying colors." Brock pressed the ice pack to his jaw. His eyes narrowed and his voice flattened. "So did you fuck him or did he fuck you?" He sat on the toilet and watched Jack dry off.

"Neither. He cornered me in the shower and jerked me off. Figured it was better than having my dick ripped off. I'm kinda fond of it. I know you set me up. You're the only one he takes orders from." 

"Just the only one you know of." Brock opened his mouth gingerly, testing the joint. "I didn't give that order. You just got the standard hazing for the new meat. Everyone gets it. The Asset gets horny after killing and the new meat gets thrown to the wolf. You're lucky he likes you, you're his favorite new toy. Anderson had to get a fissure stitched up." Brock laughed, ruefully, "Served him right. He fought back. You don't fight back against the Asset unless you like pain." 

"Is this where you spout that bullshit about 'pain brings order'?"

Brock looked up at the ceiling, "No. Pain makes you remember when to fight back. Pain makes you fuck  _them_ before they fuck you. Well, before they fuck you again. Over and over again." Brock sounded very far away, like he was thinking about something that he didn't want to.

"Did you get hazed?" Jack asked out of morbid curiosity. Brock wasn't usually so open.

"I did. But-- not by the Asset." Brock stood up and spit into the toilet. "Don't really want to talk about it. I'm a sensitive flower." 

"If you didn't give the hazing order, who did? Because I really want to curbstomp him." Jack was so tired. He toweled off his hair and loaded up his toothbrush, the buzz of the bristles scrubbed away the sand grains between his teeth. 

"Alexander Pierce." Jack choked on his toothpaste and spit into the sink. "Yeah. The Big Boss. Still want to rush up to the top of the Triskelion and kick in his teeth?"

Brock sighed, "So I've done a lot of shitty things but this one? Nope. Not me. I am glad that I didn't have to do the clean up though, it's like he fucking rolls in it like a dog. I found a lot of blood in his mouth once. I think he ripped out some poor bastard's throat with his teeth." Brock rubbed his eyes, dark circles deepening. 

"Sorry I punched you." Jack muttered. 

Brock shrugged, "I probably deserved it for _something_." The doorbell rang. "I ordered Chinese from that place you like. Do you want to go give the delivery boy a boner this time or should I?"

Jack smiled and wrapped his towel around his waist. "You pervert. I'll get it." 

"You bet you will." Brock leered, "That was the whole plan for tonight until you decided to play rough." 

Jack opened the door, "You like it rough," he said to Brock in front of the goggle-eyed delivery boy. He took the plastic bag full of food. "Thanks Sean." Jack flexed his hard muscles, just a little bit for effect. "Looking good Sean. Man, look at that definition. Have you been working out?" He touched the skin of the boy's bicep, right where his shirt sleeve ended and dragged his fingertips down to his wrist.

" _Wait_! I forgot the tip." Brock sauntered over, his boxer briefs slung low on his hips. He looked the delivery boy up and down with interest and handed him a large wad of cash. "Such _prompt_ service. We've really enjoyed your professionalism. I wonder, what time does your shift end tonight, Sean?" Brock licked his lips, a quick flick of his tongue. 

"You're--" he gulped, "My last delivery." 

"Well Sean, I've had a hell of a day and I was thinking that we've got some great Chinese food, some cold drinks and some pretty good company." Brock ran his finger down Jack's abs with a smile. "And you look like you might want to have a little fun? You've been thinking about us a lot over the last few months, haven't you Sean?" 

Jack smiled. "It has been a hell of a day. Refresh my memory Sean, weren't you having a birthday soon? You're over eighteen now, aren't you Sean?" It had been weeks of anticipation, but that just made it sweeter. 

He nodded emphatically, "Had my birthday last week." His voice cracked a bit and he licked his lips. "I'd--love some fun." Jack offered him his hand and the boy took it, Jack grinned in anticipation. Brock put the food in the refrigerator. _For later_. 

"I think you need a birthday present. Don't you think he needs a birthday present, Jack?" Brock said. "Good boys deserve presents for their birthdays. Especially such a  _big_ birthday."

"Of course he does." Jack led the boy to his couch and touched his lips to the hollow under his ear and murmured. "We should sing." His breath was hot and vulgar. " _Happy birthday... to you..._ " The boy's breath hitched and he bit off a moan. 

"You're such a shitty singer. But I think we can make some beautiful music together," Brock sat down on the other side of Sean and dragged his tongue up the boy's throat. "Don't you think, Sean?" Another groan from the boy.

Brock caught Jack's eye and winked. Jack winked back and returned to his task. He hadn't had a taste of twink in ages. He had to give it to Brock, the man knew how to get back on Jack's good side in a hurry. Then he lost himself in the touch of sweet, hot innocent flesh and stopped thinking about anything of importance for a while. A few blissful hours without consequences. He deserved this.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Comments cherished.  
> Poor Sean.


	14. Chapter 14

Two things woke Jack up. First, the bottle of lube was poking him in the neck. He must have shoved that under the pillow. Second, the warm, lithe body curled up into him was starting to squirm. Delightfully. 

Jack cracked a crusty eyelid. In the the hazy Sunday light filtering through the shades it was easy to pretend that someone else was in his bed other than Sean. Dark hair against the pillow, beardless and smooth. A metal arm hidden in the sheets.

"Shhh." Jack crooned in his ear. "Shhh." He squeezed out some slick and coated his cock with it. He pulled the boy closer to him, pushed his cock between youthful thighs and thrust. "That's it baby. Make it tight for me. Such a good boy." He nipped at the nape of the boy's neck, smiled at the bruises he'd sucked there last night. "That's right. Make me feel good. You've got it now."

Sean whimpered and Jack held his palm in front of Sean's face. "Spit," he commanded. Sean spat in his hand and Jack wrapped his hand around Sean's slender cock. He let the boy fuck up into his fist while he thrust between his thighs.

"Sweet boy. Jack's gonna make you feel so good. Gonna ruin you for all other guys. Put my mark right here." Jack bit down on his shoulder, "Right there. Everyone's gonna know what a dirty little slut you are. My sweet little slutty boy." He didn't know who he was really talking to, the delivery boy or the assassin. "Tell me you want me."

"---I do. I do!" Sean gasped and Jack curled the arm beneath Sean so he could clutch at his throat. Jack thrust faster, losing himself in the sweet slippery friction. The scent of sex and sweat was in his nose. He didn't hear Brock enter the room.

"Jesus Jack." Brock loomed over them in his jeans, his arms crossed. "Don't you know how to treat a guest?" He batted away Jack's hand and swallowed Sean's cock to the root.

 _What a showoff,_ Jack absently thought. He moved his hand to Brock's hair and pulled on it, grasping and tugging the way he knew Brock loved. Sean didn't last long and he gasped wordlessly in bliss as Brock swallowed his orgasm down.

Watching Brock lick his lips in supreme satisfaction set Jack off and he coated Sean's inner thighs with semen. Brock licked a dribble off and grinned at Jack. "You dirty little cumslut," Jack smirked and Brock shrugged, then spread Sean's thighs to get at the rest before it liquified. 

Brock knelt beside the bed, his lips glazed and sticky. "Hey, your phone is blowing up kiddo." Brock pulled it out of his back pocket and handed it to a dazed Sean. 

"Holy shit!" Sean sat up with a start, "My mom is going to kill me!" 

"Let me guess. Late for church?" Brock grinned, "I made pancakes. And most of them aren't burned." He was  _proud_ of that. 

"You hear that? Most of them aren't burned this time." Brock flipped him off. Jack fondly smacked Sean on the ass and pointed at the shower. "Hose off. You can't come home smelling like a gloryhole. I'll find your clothes and bring them to you." Sean nodded gratefully and nearly sprinted for the shower. Jack heard a squawk from the cold water. The hot water heater took a few seconds to kick in. He'd been meaning to fix that. He pulled on his shorts and began the hunt.

"You know, it's going to be hard to look his mom in the eye when we get back to work without laughing. Snooty bitch." Brock yawned as Jack found a knee-sock on the back of the couch. He was missing a shoe still.

Maybe in the kitchen? He smiled at the memory of bending Brock over the island and reaming him mercilessly with his tongue as Sean watched, his eyes wide as saucers. Then Sean got to hold down Brock's wrists, pinning him against the table as Jack drilled into Brock with his thick, greedy fingers.  

"Wait-- what?" Jack found the stray shoe behind the kitchen island. "We work with his mom?" What would mommy say about her boy getting spanked with the pancake spatula until he begged red-faced for release? He put the spatula in the dishwasher. Maybe with some  _extra_ soap. Wait, did Brock wash that before he made breakfast? Jack shrugged. Maybe assmatter would improve the taste of Brock's latest culinary efforts. 

"She works in the tech department, you didn't know that? The _special_ tech department, if you know what I mean." Jack shook his head, still not placing her even with Brock's air quote fingers.

He did a good thing last night, it wasn't every day that you got to break in a young thing like that. Sean wouldn't ever forget it, that's for sure. He could have seduced the kid way earlier before he turned legal, but he was sentimental about birthdays. Bit of a softy. And it was practical too, why chance your career for a bit of cute tail?

Brock helped himself to a plate of pancakes, drowned in syrup and butter. He smiled in smug self-satisfaction. "She's the one that always looks at you like you've shit yourself and she has to clean it up? Brunette? About this tall?" Brock gestured with his fork, "You see her every damn day. You're dense as a brick, Jack." 

Jack finally made the connection and started laughing. "Oh Jesus Christ. I owe her some shampoo. And I need to return that lab coat too." Is that why she always gave him the stinkeye? Did she know about his plan to fuck her son? _Naah_. She couldn't have. "Wow. It's a fucking small world, isn't it?" Jack took a bite of a pancake and grimaced. Not one of the mostly unburned ones. 

Brock leaned against the couch, "You should send it home with him. Do it! Dooooo it." Jack threw the shoe at him.  "Chicken! Bwack bwack!" When Sean sheepishly ventured into the living room in search of his promised clothing, Jack and Brock were wrestling in the middle of the living room, sticky with syrup.

Jack had Brock in a leg lock and he grinned at Sean. "Found your clothes!" Brock continued to make chicken noises until Jack leaned on him with all his weight, squeezing the air out of him.

"So, um-- I gotta go." Sean hopped on one foot, getting his shoe on. "Um, thanks?" 

"Don't be a stranger." Jack's grin was a little strained as Brock fought his way out of his hold. 

Brock couldn't resist, "Tell your mom _Hi_ \--! _Motherfucker!_ " Jack jabbed him with an elbow as Sean left, confused but into much of a hurry to ask questions. "You assh--!" 

They sat at the kitchen island in comfortable silence after their brawl. Cold pancakes didn't taste quite as good, but they did take some of the blood taste out of your mouth, Jack mused. He ran his tongue over his front teeth. Brock fought  _dirty,_  all knees and elbows.Thank god, he fucked the same way. 

He thought about the Asset and how filthy he could be with the right coaching, the right words. Who was the Asset's first? Did they grow him in a laboratory? Was he always a weapon? Did he have a family? "Hey, Brock?" 

"Yeah?" Brock scratched his ass and read the sports page. 

"Did-- did the Asset ever have a name? I mean, a real name. Not a code name." Jack poked at the pancakes. 

"Yes. His name was Chester McPussy Lips. You can see why they changed it." Brock flipped the page. "Stop asking questions Jack. Take it from me. Questions like that, they only lead to pain. Although not as painful as that score. _Jesus_. Can you execute an entire baseball team? Because the Dodgers are on Death Row this season." 

Jack nodded. Maybe it was better not to know. _Maybe_. "It's poker night. You're coming with me." Brock shrugged, not really paying attention. Jack didn't clarify that there was only going to be one other player. 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope that chapter answered some questions.  
> Thank you for the lovely comments.


	15. Chapter 15

"So after we finish this--, " Brock made a face, "Then we'll head back to the gym and do some training? Okay?" They had to come up with a plausible reason for being back at work on a Sunday, the free gym was a good excuse. No one ever asked, there was something about Brock and Jack that made the curious back away slowly. Born predators perhaps? Jack smiled faintly, maybe they were just worried that Brock would cook them dinner. Thank god he had a cast-iron stomach. 

"Gonna beat the shit out of some of those Cross-fit freaks?" Jack patted his jacket pockets, yup everything was there. He was always armed in one way or another, if not carrying heat then something sharper. You were only as vulnerable as you let yourself be. The lab coat was washed, ironed and neatly folded over his arm. He liked the way Brock smiled at the thought of mayhem. 

"Lure 'em into the boxing ring with the doddering old man routine." Brock laughed. He only got the newbies with that, once you'd watched Brock utterly destroy an opponent you never wanted back in there. "I've learned all your tricks, Jack, you're no fun in the ring anymore. Maybe I can get Freezer Burn in there, he can take a really serious beating." And his smile got even _brighter_. "And he apologizes afterwards for hurting _you_." 

Jack handed the lab coat to a tech who wouldn't look at him and then followed Brock to the room. The Asset was waiting in his institutional pajama pants. His face was carefully blank and he sat on the metal bench. The doors shut behind them. 

"So," Brock crossed his arms and leaned against the wall. "What are we doing to do pass the time?" 

Jack walked over to the Asset and held out his hand. A half-eaten packet of bubblegum. The ridiculous symbol of their pact. He took it from Jack and looked up through thick dark eyelashes. Brock coughed and Jack startled. He took a deck of cards out of his pocket. "Jokers are wild. Best out of ten hands." Jack sat down on the floor, rested his back against the wall. "You do know how to play, don't you?" 

Brock rolled his eyes. "Yeah, I know how to play asshole. What are we playing for?" Brock sank down, grumbling at the cold floor. 

Jack shrugged, "Bragging rights." He crooked his finger at the Asset who tucked the gum into the waistband of his pants and joined them. "If you can win against this guy, then you deserve to brag about it." 

Brock didn't look impressed. "Huh. Did I tell you how I got kicked out of that casino in Atlantic City?" Brock yawned. 

"Nope. Get drunk and start a fight?" 

"Broke the bank on the five card stud table. So yeah," Brock smirked, "Deal me in." He crooked his finger. 

Six hands later, Brock hadn't lost once. Jack made a mental note to drive him up to that new Indian Casino upstate. Full of surprises. Brock stared over the cards at the Asset, Jack had ceased to be competition after the first hand. "You're pretty good kid." Brock laid down his cards. A straight. "But I'm _better_."

Brock's phone went off, buzzed like an angry bee in his pocket. He squinted at it and stood up. "Huh. Looks like Freezer Burn needs a little TLC." He waved at Jack. "Catch up with you later." 

Jack grumbled, "I'm surprised you're not sprinting out of here." 

Brock shrugged and ran his fingers through his hair. "He just needs a little slap and tickle, friendly-style. Don't wait up, I'll find my own way home."

"Just-- please take a shower afterwards. I don't want you to rub my nose in it." Jack looked down at the floor and shuffled the deck. Orders, it was just orders. He had to remember that. But he didn't have to _like_ it.

"Would I ever?" Brock kissed Jack on the side of the head and left.

The doors slid shut and Jack silently fumed. He reached for the deck box. "Okay, time for me to go." 

The Asset put his metal hand over Jack's and softly said, "One more hand." He held Jack's gaze until Jack nodded. 

"What are the stakes?" Jack's mouth was dry. The metal was cool to the touch, tiny servos whirred in the near silence as Jack dealt the hand. 

"Twenty minutes to do anything I like with you." The Asset clarified, "I will not harm you." It was a good point to clarify.

Jack raised an eyebrow and tried to steady his breath. This was what he wanted, wasn't it? And Brock just ran off to fuck Rogers, practically sprinted. The _bastard_. "Wagered against what?" The Asset put his precious packet of gum on the floor and sat back on his haunches. His only possession wagered against twenty minutes of Jack's complete attention.

Jack looked at his cards. It was the best hand he'd ever had in his life. Near unbeatable. The Asset stared through him and Jack put his cards down on the floor, face down. "I _fold_." 

The Asset sprang forward and straddled Jack. Jack's head thumped against the concrete wall, but he barely felt it. He put his hands on Jack's shoulders and ordered, "Put your hands on the floor. Don't move them." Jack obeyed, his hands flat on the cement.

The Asset ran his fingers all over Jack's chest, tracing the contours of his muscles beneath the fabric, then dipped lower along the small of his back. Metal fingers grazed the skin that peeked out from the waistband of his pants and Jack gasped. The Asset cracked a tiny smile and neatly lifted Jack's wallet from his back pocket. He sat back on Jack's thighs and took out his driver's license. "Now I know where you live." 

 _I just fucked up. I really fucked up._ Jack asked as nonchalantly as he could, "Why did you need to know that?" The Asset began humming the same wordless tune that he had crooned in the shower. He put the card back in Jack's wallet and began examining the other contents. "Planning on visiting, are you?" No answer, other than that infernal humming. The Asset plucked out a tattered photograph and pointed. 

"My parents and I. That was the first day of school, I think first grade." It was the only picture Jack had of his family smiling. Jack flexed his fingers. The Asset still smelled faintly of papaya. 

"You were so little." He squinted at the child Jack's face and looked back at Jack as if he didn't trust his eyes. 

"We all grow up. Didn't you have parents?" The Asset put the picture away and tossed the wallet on the floor. Jack's phone appeared in his hand and he typed in the access code nimbly. Of course, he'd seen Jack type it in before, but it was still impressive. What kind of mind lurked in that pretty skull? He pressed the internet radio button.  _Baby, can't you see._ _I'm calling._ _A guy like you should wear a warning._ _It's dangerous._ _I'm falling._

Jack cringed inwardly, "Yeah, Brock put that on to piss me off on the drive here." He really was heavy, Jack's toes were tingling. "There's other stations--" 

"I like it." The Asset cut him off and listened to the entire song then he clicked off the volume and looked at Jack with the same steely intent. Jack squirmed under his gaze. He'd thought that there would be more-- more dick touching than this. 

"Each to his own, I suppose." 

The Asset thumbed through his photos and stopped on a still of Brock sleeping, his face soft, relaxed. _Vulnerable_. His hair loose upon his forehead, the hint of a fingertip bruise on his shoulder. It was one of Jack's favorite photos, one that Brock didn't know about or he'd have deleted it. "You love him." It was a statement, not a question.  "He is not a good man." His lips flattened into a thin line.

"Neither am I." Jack deflected and tried to shift the Asset's attention back to him, the tiny voice in the back of his brain was screaming. 

"You're different." The metal hand clenched in a fist, relaxed and clenched again. "You don't want to touch me." 

"No, I'm not. I want to touch you so badly. I want to touch every inch of you. I want to kiss you right now." The yearning in his voice was pathetic, "I've done terrible things. I've done terrible things to you." Terrible things that made his dick harden in the wee hours of the night. Things that he thought about during briefings, on long commutes, while he was buried deep in Sean's tight hole. 

"If he wasn't the Commander, would you still love him?" Jack froze. _Oh shit._

"Look at me soldier. You will do nothing to hurt the Commander, nothing to hurt Brock. You will keep him alive and breathing." _Silence_. "If Brock dies, then _they_ will take me away from you. Do you hear me? That's an order!" All this time, Jack still hadn't moved his hands out of fear or obedience, he didn't know.  

"Affirmative." The Asset sighed and shrugged, his brilliant idea had been disregarded. "I have minutes left. I set an alarm." He tapped on the phone and smiled. 

"I've run out of things for you to steal from me." Jack whispered, panic still surging through his heart. "And I think my legs have fallen asleep." 

The Asset set the phone down and leaned forward on his haunches, he combed back Jack's hair and started to sing softly under his breath, " _A guy like you should wear a warning._ " Then he giggled and kissed the corner of Jack's left eye. Jack's breath hitched as the assassin began to grind down upon him, rhythmically with his hips. Another kiss on his right eyelid and Jack groaned. 

"I didn't bring a change of pants. You're-- you're going to make a mess of me." A kiss on his forehead, scalding hot like a brand. His plea only seemed to make the Asset ride him harder, chafed his dick against the zipper of his pants. Jack scraped his fingernails against the concrete floor, aching to touch that smooth sweet skin. He was already a mess, wasn't he? 

" _It's dangerous._ _I'm falling._ " The Asset crooned and finally kissed Jack, his flesh fingers wound in Jack's hair, the metal ones clutched at Jack's throat and squeezed. The alarm trilled and Jack spasmed, flooding his shorts with semen. 

The Asset laughed, stood up and picked up his packet of gum. He sat back on the metal bench and popped a cube of gum into his mouth. He chewed and blew a bubble. Jack stared back at him and the Asset walked back to his side. He knelt down and took the gum out of his mouth, opened Jack's jaw and put the chewed gum on his tongue. 

He chewed the gum with a scrunched up face. "Thanks. I guess?" 

The Asset patted Jack's shoulder and smiled. "Khoroshiy mal'chik." And Jack felt that he was being rewarded, like a well-behaved pet dog. The sticky dampness at his crotch shook him out of his shock and Jack looked up at the ceiling. He was going to have to borrow a lab coat again.  _Damn it._

 

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am writing this while feverish and on cold medicine. It might show.


	16. Chapter 16

Jack opened his front door, his mind swimming with doubts and guilt. Oh he had fucked up. He'd royally screwed the pooch. How was he going to tell Brock about this? Was he going to tell him? _Oh, hey, remember when you trusted me to take care of the Asset? Well, funny story. I umm, kinda care about him-- just a little-- not as much as you! And he's pretty interested in having you removed from the picture... Ha ha?_

Jack pushed the stale, hard gum from one side of his mouth to the other. He'd chomped on the inside of his cheek accidentally and the taste of coppery blood mixed with faint chemical sweetness. He shut the door behind him, took his boots off and put them under the mud bench. No. He'd fixed it. The Asset was never getting out of HYDRA custody, he was being paranoid. And it was too late to move, the mortgage was already paid off. 

Why? Why was he so stupid? Why was he already thinking about what he'd do tomorrow in that room? Would marbles be creepy? The Asset could probably flick a shooter marble through his eye if he wanted to. So fucking stupid. 

"Hey Jack." Brock said from the living room, his face silhouetted by the light of the television. "I brought a friend home." Steve Rogers waved at him from the other end of the couch and Jack swallowed his gum. Brock raised an eyebrow. "Nice lab coat." 

"Um. Okay. I'm gonna go change." Jack stammered, "What are you watching?" Steve had his shoes off too and Brock was nursing a beer. 

" _We_ are watching the great classic of American cinema,  _Titanic._ " Brock gestured at the screen, "She's about to get her tits out, you're gonna miss the best part." 

"You're not going to make me hold you up like Rose again, are you?" Jack couldn't resist ribbing Brock. "Feel the wind in your hair?" 

"You just keep talking like that and see if I share my door with you." Brock took another drink. 

Steve shrugged, "I think this will make more sense once I sit through the whole movie." 

"I wouldn't bet money on that." Jack smirked. He changed quickly, sponged off so he didn't smell like a rumpled sock under a teen boy's bed. Leave it to Brock to bring Rogers home. He must be exhausted, otherwise he'd have plowed Steve up against the locker room sink. Jack blinked, now that was a  _thought_.

He walked back into the living room, grabbed a beer from the fridge and told Brock, "Shove over." It was a big couch but he wasn't cuddling up to Rogers, nope. Not his orders. Jack leaned back, put his arm over the back of the couch and settled in. "You bought the Blu-Ray, I see." 

"The only way to watch movies, I mean what's the point of having a kick-ass tv if you can't see every little wrinkle?" Brock shushed him, "The best part!" He mouthed the phrase, "Draw me like one of your French girls." with reverence and hooked an elbow into Jack's ribs when Jack snickered. Steve looked more amused by their antics than by the show. 

They watched in silence until Brock's head landed on Jack's chest. He looked down and Brock was drooling a spot on his shirt. "Wakey wakey Sleeping Beauty." Jack said, but Brock only wriggled down lower to use Jack's thigh as a pillow. Brock sprawled out and his feet ended up in Rogers' lap. He sighed contentedly and began to snore. 

Jack looked at Steve and felt the urge to apologize, but he stuffed that down. They watched as the two lovers were parted forever and the young man slipped into the dark frozen waters. Steve began to knead on Brock's feet, not really paying attention to the actions, just something to do with his fingers.

Jack coughed, "Brock can be a real asshole. I mean, this can't be easy to watch. I can put something else on. Maybe something _Disney_?"  

Steve grimaced, "I can make it through to the end. It's just-- a little close to home." He cocked his head to the side, "They've got the look right though, it's like drowning all over again." And a twinge of guilt curled in Jack's gut. "It is a beautiful film, catchy song. Probably should have kept the necklace." 

"I would have." They stared at the credits, not moving Brock as he wriggled in unconscious pleasure at the foot rub. "So--." Jack combed his fingers through Brock's hair gently and he took a sip of his lukewarm beer. The movie went back to the play screen and Celine crooned in the background on repeat.

"Yeah. I need to apologize." Rogers rubbed his face. "I thought you two were just roommates." 

Jack shrugged, "Haven't put a ring on it yet." He wasn't going to torpedo Brock's mission, even if it would be so goddamned easy. Rogers blinked. "We've got an arrangement. He gets to fuck people, I get to fuck people and sometimes," Jack smiled nice and casual, "Sometimes we fuck people together. So, are you fucking my boyfriend Steve?" 

Rogers looked at his feet and mumbled, "Just once." He stopped touching Brock and put his arm on the back of the couch. 

Jack nodded and set the bottle down. "I see. Was it after a mission?" 

Steve nodded guiltily, "Marrakesh."

"Heard that was a rough one. He's so pretty when he's excited, isn't he? Got a smile that lights up the room. Hard to say no." Jack put his arm up on the couch as well, mirroring Steve's body language. "Especially when you don't know if you're gonna bite it on the next mission or not. Better to go for it while you're still breathing." Jack touched the tip of his finger to Steve's. "Seize the day and all that jazz."

"I thought you didn't like me." Steve's cheeks were flushed. "Thought this would go a lot differently." He didn't move his hand.

Jack inched forward, grateful for his long arms, and clutched Steve's hand. "I just don't want to see Brock get hurt." He smiled, "He's a sensitive flower. And you're a wet dream come to life." Steve scrunched up his face. "No really, look at you. What can you bench again?" 

"'Bout 1,200 pounds." 

" _Jesus_. You could crack someone's skull with your butt cheeks. You _could_ , couldn't you?" Jack laughed. 

"Never tried. You'd have to grab them by the ears to get any grip, wouldn't you?" Steve's eyes watered from laughing. 

Jack glanced down, Brock was playing possum and pretending to be asleep, his face turned away from Steve. A tiny curl of a smile on the corner of his lips dared Jack. Should he go for it? Should he see exactly how lonely and hard up the hero sitting on his couch was? Why the fuck not? "Seems like something a man should try at least once in his life, doesn't it?" 

Steve swallowed hard as Jack traced a circle with his thumb on his hand. "I suppose so. Have to wait for the right partner, I guess." 

"I think more-- the right opportunity. Tell me, Rogers, doesn't watching that movie make you want to get warm? Makes me all shivery. Why don't you let me show you the rest of the house. I've got a collection of etchings in our bedroom." Jack hitched his thumb over his shoulder.

He watched as Steve thought about it, "What about Brock?" He asked feebly, he was already flushed down to his collar. A full body-blusher. Jack didn't have to like a guy to fuck him and the idea of being balls deep in yet another living legend was heady. What was his life? He had a momentary thought of the Asset and Rogers curled up together on his bed and his smile widened into a predatory grin. 

"Trust me, it's not the first night he's spent on the couch." Brock pinched Jack's thigh where Steve couldn't see it. "Yep, he can be a right spiteful little bitch at times. But he knows how to share," Jack made a show of carefully putting a pillow under Brock's head and kissing the side of his cheek.

Jack leaned over Steve and with his hot breath in his ear said, "Come on Rogers. Don't you have far too many regrets as it is?" 

 

 

 

  


	17. Chapter 17

It was just too fucking easy, Jack thought as he ran his callused hands over Rogers' curves. That's what they were. Sweet, perfect curves. Best looking rack he'd seen in a long time. Skin that flushed red when he dragged a fingernail over it, held the tint and then faded. He was insufferably respectful and modest and Jack longed to see if something darker lurked inside that heroic facade. Nobody could be _that_ noble. 

He held Rogers' hands by the wrists and looked at them, palms up. Shadows trailed over his lifelines, callused from the impact of catching and throwing the shield that was in the living room under Steve's coat. "You gonna read my palms? Tell me my future?" 

Jack snorted. "Naah. I was just thinking about how we both have the same calluses. Right here." Rogers inhaled raggedly as Jack traced the callused skin with his fingertip. "But I do know your future. At least the immediate future." Jack looked at Rogers, he was tall enough to not crane his neck and none of his bulk came from a super-serum. Without dropping eye contact, Jack pulled Rogers' hand up to his mouth and took his finger between his lips. Jack hollowed his cheeks and sucked on the digit. 

"Um, I like the plan but I can think of a better place to execute it." Steve breathed lustily and Jack laughed. He reached out and seized Steve's waistband. He hastily undressed him and his khakis fell down around Steve's ankles. His shorts followed and Jack licked his lips at the thick, hardness bobbing before him. But Jack had other ideas. 

"Get on my bed soldier, face down." Jack ordered, a grin tugging at the corners of his lips. Steve obliged him and Jack knelt down, facing the slightly open door to the living room. The lights were off but Jack saw the glimmer of white teeth in the darkness. _Brock_. You filthy peeping tom. Well, Jack did like the idea of an appreciative audience. Steve's face was buried in the sheets, his body flushed rosy-pink. 

Jack palmed both of Steve's asscheeks with his hands, kneaded the smooth sweet flesh with his fingers. He thought about his birthday present with the Asset. He wondered if Brock had set this encounter up too or if his life was just messed up. He licked a stripe up Steve's taint and blew on it, the minor chill made Steve shiver in anticipation. He tasted like soap and clean skin. "Clean as a whistle. Were you planning on fucking my boyfriend tonight, Steve? Were you gonna fuck him on my couch? Make a wet spot on my furniture listening to Celine Dion?" Jack traced lazy circles on the sensitive skin with his tongue. "You must be something really special if he eats you out." He wasn't jealous, he _wasn't_.

 _Just another sweet young thing on his sheets, don't think about who he is, what he stands for... who I work for_ , Jack thought.

"Yes." Steve uttered while winding his fists in the sheets. "And no. Don't know." 

Jack nipped at the tender inner skin of Steve's asscrack. "It's okay, I like a man who's prepared. Brock's such a mess sometimes." He peeked up over the crest of Steve's body and saw Brock flip him off in the darkness. He arched his eyebrow and winked.

"Now relax Cap. Let me make you feel good. Try not to crush my skull, please." Steve's giggle choked off into a gurgle as Jack laved his tongue over the puckered ring of muscle. Jack held Brock's eye contact as long as he could, then he pulled Steve's checks apart and went back to work with his clever tongue and lips. 

Jack had never had someone get off just from getting rimmed, but damned if Steve wasn't close. "Need a hand?" He asked, his face shiny with spit. Steve nodded and Jack wrapped a hand around Steve's swollen, leaking cock. He tongue-fucked Rogers until his jaw ached and his fingers glistened with Steve's pre-cum. Steve shook and clamped down around Jack's face, unable to stop his orgasmic tremors. Hot spunk flowed out over Jack's fingers and for a moment, Jack forgot to breathe. 

They lay there for a moment until Brock started to applaud from the doorway, a slow clap. "Well now. Gotta say that was better than the movie." He shucked his clothing on the way to the bed and Steve watched him curiously. "Nice of you to get him all ready for me." He slid his fingers down Steve's ass and cooed in delight at how easily Steve took his fingers within him. Steve groaned at the overstimulation. "So how long before I can fuck you Rogers? Hmm?" 

"Give me a minute. I think my brain exploded." Steve mumbled and Jack's chest swelled with pride. It wasn't like he could put this on his resume, but damned if he wasn't preening. He held up his hand and Brock reluctantly completed the high-five. 

"Really dude?" Brock rolled his eyes but smirked in appreciation. They both looked at Rogers as he lay on the bed panting with his eyes closed and Brock licked his lips hungrily. 

Jack took off his sweatpants, freeing his erection. It slapped against his firm belly. He spread his hand over the base of Brock's neck, feeling the close-cropped hairs bristle under his touch. "Why don't you put that smart mouth to work?" And Brock sank to his knees, opened his mouth and waited so pliantly that Jack was struck dumb in awe. He watched as Brock swallowed him down with no hesitation, Jack groaned and Steve opened his eyes to watch them.

Jack fucked into Brock's throat, clutching at his hair, petting his face and murmuring an obscene litany. "That's my good boy. So fucking tight, so wet baby. You're my sweet little fucktoy." Jack pulled out of Brock's lips with a wet slurping sound before he lost what little control he had and shot down Brock's throat. "So Rogers, you ready for round two?" 

"I could do this all day." Steve cockily smiled as he sized them both up. 

"So," Jack leaned over the bed, "Who do you want up that pretty ass of yours?" He grabbed a handful of cheek and squeezed. "Or should we do rock, paper, scissors?" 

Steve looked up through lashes long enough for a girl, "Um. _You_. I mean you put so much work into it--" 

"Damn, I'm flattered Rogers." Jack grabbed a condom from the nightstand and a pump of lube in his hand. He rolled on the rubber and shrugged. "Sorry, don't know where you've been. Gotta be safe. Hands and knees. Good boy."

Steve's tight little asshole winked at him and Jack lined his cock up. He pushed in a bit faster and harder than he should have. Steve groaned like a greedy slut and Jack reminded himself that he  _didn't like_  Captain America. Didn't like the way he looked at Brock, the way he fucked Brock. Brock was  _his._ Who did he think he was, trying to muscle in on Jack's territory? He hadn't earned it, he hadn't bled enough to deserve Brock.He pounded into Steve at a punishing pace, pressing his fingers into the perfect pale flesh of Steve's ass, trying to leave bruises. Marks that would too quickly fade. "You like that? You like getting fucked into the bed? Dirty little slut. How many other guys have been balls deep in your ass?" Jack hissed. "Tell me!" 

Steve howled, "Two! Okay! Two!" And Jack grabbed his hair, ran his teeth up the cords in Steve's neck and bit on his earlobe. 

"Did they make sweet, sweet love to you, princess? Sorry-- I'm not-- made that way!" He sucked a bruise into Steve's skin, confident that whatever he did Steve would heal from. Made him want to get out his boot knife with the blackened blade, maybe carve a five point star right in the meaty part of Steve's arm... _Just like the Asset._ A fuse snapped in Jack's brain at that thought and he came hard, shuddering and groaning against Steve's back. He lay there, dead weight while he tried to make his limbs work. 

Brock began slow clapping again. "Got a little excited, did we Jack?" He picked a condom out of the dresser. "Shove over. Let a real man take a poke at it." His eyes were bright, his lips wet and pink. Jack rolled off Steve and stared at the ceiling while Brock's voice rang distant and hollow in his ears. "Come on Rogers, don't make me do all the work. Ride me soldier. That's it pretty boy. That's it, _Big Guy_." _Oh no, he didn't just say that._

Jack thought about long dark hair and supple lips. The sound of metal plates adjusting by micrometers. Fuck. He was in deep. Maybe. Maybe after Insight saved the world they could live here. Together. As a family. Jack could save him, show him the world.

Steve's elbow caught him in the side of the leg as he rode Brock, his head tilted back in lustful delight. Jack scowled at the triumphant grin on Brock's face.  _Better enjoy it while you can, Brock_ , Jack thought as he took off the condom. _Because old Cap there, bouncing on your cock, well, his name was at the top of Insight's to-do list._

 

Jack smirked, put his hands behind his head and thought about Steve Rogers getting blasted from the sky while he buckled and moaned on Brock's dick. Jack cocked a finger gun and pointed at a blissed out Steve.  _Bang bang. You're dead._

Brock wrapped his fingers around Steve's cock and jerked him off in time to his strokes. Steve came with a gasp, shot all over Brock's grinning face and chest in thick white ropey ribbons.He slapped Brock's outstretched hand in another high-five and laughed. "You asshole." He leaned over and kissed Brock sweetly, ignoring Steve. 

_Mine._

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Guess who is still sick?


	18. Chapter 18

The backyard hammock swayed in the gentle breeze. Sunlight dappled through the leaves and cast gentle shadows on his skin. Brock was with him on the hammock, his body pressed up against Jack's. Brock rested his head on Jack's shoulder as they swayed. Back and forth, not a care in the world. Brock's hair tickled his chin and the familiar scent of cheap hair gel was comforting. He closed his eyes and drifted away as Brock absently traced his fingers over the skin where his shirt had ridden up.  _This was perfect_ , Jack thought. 

The hammock swayed violently, lurching to and fro. Jack clutched at the ropes, grabbed at Brock, but Brock wasn't there. The backyard spun about him, voices screamed in his ears in languages he didn't know. _Where's Brock? Where's Brock?_ Over and over, he lashed out with his arms while screaming until his voice cracked, "Where's BROCK!?" His eyes didn't want to work, he couldn't see and he thrashed around in panic. 

A voice said in his ear. "Don't worry, he's _dead_. Just like you if you don't follow orders, you piece of SHIELD shit." And a boot caught him in the ribs. "Stay down." Jack crumpled to the floor and thought about burnt pancakes and cheap body spray. Loss and grief warred with numbness and pain, Jack retched in the dirt. They had to be lying.

"Hey Big Guy. Where'd you go?" Brock snapped his fingers. "You've got to clean the grill before it gets cold." Jack pulled Brock closer to him and he gave a token struggle before relaxing into Jack with a huff. "Bad dream? _Relax_. We've got all the time in the world today." Jack buried his face in Brock's hair. 

"I was just thinking about how much I love you. How I wake up in the morning and if I don't see your stupid face--." Jack whispered. "I don't want to lose you."

"Getting all soft on me, are you?" Brock grinned, "I'm not going anywhere. The rent's too good." Jack pinched Brock on the flank for his sass. " _Ow_. You know what I mean. I-- I love you too, Jack. But don't be a pansy about it, okay?" Jack tilted up Brock's chin and tried to memorize his features. "Do I have something on my face?" 

"Yeah." Jack leaned in to kiss Brock, closed his eyes and his fingers fell through nothing. Nothing but darkness swam across his vision. Jack's bound hands clutched at the dirt and he started to cry, not from the pain in his battered body but from the aching loss of Brock. He couldn't be dead. He just couldn't be. 

Stale water poured in his mouth. "So you're still alive. We'll fix that soon. We'll have a statement for you to read." Jack swallowed when his whole body wanted to spit. "You're the only one left, scum. There's no one coming for you."

His face met the dirt and someone kicked him in the stomach. Jack curled around himself and listened to the footsteps away from him, at least two sets of feet. He counted until the door shut and tried to remove the blindfold. His hands were tethered to his ankles, even curled up he couldn't reach the tightly bound cloth. His eyes burned, they stung. He did the only thing he could do, he _waited_. 

He listened for the sounds around him just like he had done for his parents. He heard the things that they couldn't, the buzz of an angry wasp, the whistle of the tea kettle-- the sound of Mr. Rackem's '83 Dodge barreling along, out of control straight towards his father bending over to pick up the newspaper. He-- He couldn't hear Jack either, not in time...not in time. _I'm so, so sorry_. Who was he apologizing to this time?  _Sorry. Sorry. Sorry._

"Why do you say that?" The Asset lazily looked up at him with bright blue eyes, his soft brown hair spread in Jack's folded legs. Jack plaited a single braid and worried it with his fingers. "Why are you always so sorry?" He snapped his gum and blew a bubble.

Jack sighed, "I failed. I failed to keep you safe." The Asset made a buzzing sound with his lips and rolled his eyes. Jack sadly smiled and plaited another thin braid, gathering each hair with careful finesse. "I'm supposed to keep you safe. Supposed to protect you." The white walls around them were blindingly stark.

The Asset closed his eyes and said, "I am supposed to protect _you_. You are mine. I protect what is mine. So you will honor the agreement and stay alive until I can save you. Do not doubt my skills." He held up his metal hand. "We have a deal."

Jack reached out and took the cool fingers, his heart lurched in his chest. "I don't doubt you. I never doubted you. I'm so--" Jack swallowed, his voice rough and harsh. His fingers stopped working and the metal hand slipped through them, "I doubt myself. And I'm so, so sorry for being so weak." 

"Words mean nothing. Actions are what matter." The weight of the Asset's head in his lap was gone and Jack couldn't smell the sweet scent of bubblegum, only the rankness of his own filth-caked body. "So be strong. Be strong." His voice murmured in Jack's ear and he bit his lip. They couldn't have killed the Asset, no one could kill him. Jack crammed down his despair as a flare of hope sparked up in his gut. If they'd killed Brock, he'd kill them all. He'd have the Asset gut them while they begged for mercy, he'd step on their throats and burn their families to the the ground. They'd all pay for murdering his Brock. All of SHIELD and HYDRA would rain down upon them in a vengeful storm of brutality. 

Jack started to laugh, a high-pitched hysterical keening. 

The unmistakable sound of a flash-bang, Jack was grateful for the blindfold. He couldn't hear anything, couldn't see anything but he knew, he knew in his bones that the Asset was coming for him. His ears rang and someone fell over him, pushed or thrown. Jack gasped and cursed, "Fuck," until the weight was pushed off of him. Tossed over someone's shoulder like a ragdoll, Jack's face bounced off of a broad back and he thought about playing cards, bubbles and stolen kisses. Blood pounded in his ears and he gasped for breath. 

His rescuer took off his blindfold at the evac vehicle, Jack could feel the unmistakable rumblings of a Quinjet engine and made a loud, distressed sound at what he saw. "I've looked better, I guess." Jack choked out and took a stumbling step. He fell against his rescuer, who held him tightly and petted his grimy hair. Racking sobs of relief shook Jack, shook him to his core. "Thank you. Thank you. You came for me. I knew you'd come for me. _I love you_ so much, oh god thank you. I listened, I listened to you. You'll never be alone again, I swear it. Fuck--" 

He clutched at his rescuer's left arm, confused that it was flesh and bone. How could it be? "What?" He mouthed his question over the whine of the engines. Someone rinsed his eyes with saline, it ran down his face in rivulets like the tears that had dried up days earlier. Jack blinked and his eyes slowly focused. Steve _fucking_ Rogers of all people looked down at him with a patient smile and blood dripping down the side of his face. 

Where was the Asset? Where was Brock? _Oh my god, no. No. No. It can't be._ He looked around the cabin frantically. _No. No. No. No._

"Nice to have you back, Jack." Steve helped him to a gurney, strapped him in while the medics bustled about him, injecting him with drugs and fluids. "Relax. We've got all the time in the world today." Steve smiled with sweet pink lips at him and Jack's vision whited out in rage, he screamed at the top of his lungs, thrashing wildly against his bonds until the sedatives kicked in and Steve looked at him in horror. 

_"Was it something I said?"_

 

 


	19. Chapter 19

The ceiling of his hospital room looked just like the last one. _You'd think with all the time people laid in this beds, you'd want to do something with the ceilings_ , Jack mused in a drugged up haze. At least he had a window. That meant he was in a SHIELD facility, not one of the black sites. Good to know. He'd given up on television hours earlier after he accidentally landed on a soap opera that he instantly knew all the characters from. From his last hospital stay. Nope. _Not getting hooked on that shit again while fucked up on painkillers._

It was easier to look at the ceiling than to look over at the man who had appointed himself Jack's hospital guardian. Steve Rogers was reading a magazine about current events and frowning slightly. "So, bored to tears yet?" Jack muttered, his voice harsh from screaming and disuse. 

Steve didn't even look up from his reading. "I could do this--" and Jack groaned. 

"Don't say it." He wound his fingers in the sheets. "I don't need this _babying_. I should be-- out there. Looking." Brock was out there somewhere, too stubborn to keel over. He was probably hurt, suffering and Jack was getting coddled. Even if he checked out against medical advice there was no way he'd get psych clearance. 

Steve turned a page, "You have a concussion, chemical burns on your face, multiple lacerations, broken ribs and a serious case of denial. You're not gonna just walk this off, Jack. We'll find him." 

"Then why are you here?" Jack stared at Steve. "Why aren't you out in the field? Why aren't you looking for Brock?" He narrowed his eyes and hissed, "Decided you didn't want to fuck him anymore?" 

Steve finally set down his magazine. "Jack. I'm here because I got recalled from the field by Fury for another mission. I'll be heading out soon. I just wanted to check up on you." He looked at Jack with big blue eyes that Jack wanted to gouge out with his thumbs. "Rest. We'll bring him home." Or part of him. Was there going to be enough to bury or would Jack have to put an empty casket in the ground? _Fuck, fuck, don't start thinking about that._

Jack turned his head away from Steve, the movement made his vision swim. "Don't fucking come back if you don't." He clicked the dose button on his painkiller drip several times. Each click was an hour long usually dreamless nap at least. They should have given him more clicks.

"You're not the only who has lost someone they loved, Jack." Rogers said with steel in his voice, "I'm not going to make you go through that, not like I did. I will bring him back. I swear it." And then Jack was too tired to care about super soldiers and lost loves, he gave into the sweet black oblivion of morphine. 

* * *

 

Jack cracked his crusty eyes and rubbed his stubbled face. Someone had brought him flowers, a bunch of white daisies. He slowly sat up and picked up the card.  _Thinking of you._ There was no signature. Probably Rogers. Pansy-ass fucking flowers. Should throw them into the trash. Too much energy for the effort. 

His phone, earbuds and charger were on the bedside table as well. Now that was a welcome sight. There was a sticky note on the case. One word,  _Rest._ Now that was Rogers for sure. Jack thumbed in his passcode and thought about the Asset flipping through his photographs. Who was taking care of him now? Were they being good to him, treating him well? Jack doubted it and more guilt crushed down upon him. They should have made the Asset go with Brock, should have made him have backup. 

He wished he could remember more of what happened, but it was as if his brain had been squeegeed clean of the mission. He stopped at the photo of Brock sleeping and stared at it for a long, long time. He'd always known there was a chance that one of them wouldn't make it, wouldn't come back, but he'd thought it would be him. He'd throw himself on a grenade for that man if it weren't such a fucking cliche. 

Had anyone told Brock's sister or Cheryl yet? Did anyone know he was missing outside of STRIKE and SHIELD? Would anyone else ever know? It's not like they could publicly let people know what they were doing. 

He put in his earbuds and pressed play.  _It's getting late. To give you up. I took a sip. From my devil's cup. Slowly, it's taking over me._ The same shitty song that the Asset listened to with him. Jack pushed repeat song and then clicked his pain medicine. The trick was only pressing it up to the limit once, then they'd give you more. Anything more than that was pushing it and only got you a lecture about opiate addiction and constipation.  _Oh,_ _The taste of your lips._ _I'm on a ride._ _You're toxic I'm slippin' under._ _With a taste of a poison paradise._ Jack licked his lips and reclined on his bed, stared at the ceiling again.

Maybe it was the music combined with the morphine because he could have sworn that the Asset was standing over his hospital bed. "I told you that I would bring you back." He looked clean and well fed in his institutional pajama pants. He smiled at Jack from behind his goggles and Jack's eyes welled up again with tears. 

"Actually, I brought him back." Rogers said from the other side of his bed. "Didn't see you there." 

The Asset cocked his head to the side and stared at Rogers with interest. "He is _mine_." 

"I don't see your name written on him anywhere." Rogers shrugged, Jack could feel the tension in the room. Something was about to snap, but he couldn't move. His limbs were leaden and his mouth too dry to speak. "And I've seen quite a lot of him." 

"You are not to touch him." The Asset hissed and leapt over the hospital bed, his metal hand at Rogers' throat. "Understand?" Rogers broke the hold easily and stared back at the Asset defiantly. 

"I don't follow orders well." Steve sassed back at the assassin and that's when things got  _weird._ Steve took off his shirt and the Asset traced his muscles with his flesh fingertips, "Why don't you make me?" Steve's chin lifted and the Asset pressed his lips to Steve's throat. Jack watched helpless from his hospital bed as the Asset suckled a huge purple bruise into Steve's pale flesh and Steve bucked up into his touch.

"I will teach you to follow orders. _Order comes from pain_." The Asset grabbed handfuls of Steve's rack and pinched the soft pink nipples mercilessly. But that's what Brock would say, not the Asset. Jack looked over his shoulder and saw Brock standing there, his lips quirked in a smirk.

"Hey Big Guy. I can't leave you alone for a second, can I?" Brock's hand rested on the pillow beside Jack's head. "Looks like they're having fun. Wanna make a bet on who gets out of that alive?" Jack wanted to grab Brock's hand, but he couldn't move. "Don't worry. I'm not going to make you clean up afterwards. Think they'll get jizz on the ceiling?"

Jack looked back at the two super-soldiers as they kissed with savage ferocity, groping and grabbing flesh. They ground their cocks together and groaned in desire. Steve took off the goggles and stared in shock at the Asset's face. "What? _It can't be. No. NO!_ " 

And then it was his voice screaming out "No! No! No!" as the pop princess crooned in his ears. The nurse took out his earbuds and shouted something about internal bleeding and shock. They wheeled Jack out of the room towards the OR, chattering about him while he whimpered Brock's name over and over. The anesthesiologist leaned over him and told him to count backwards from ten, Jack muttered, "How about you go fuck yourself instead?" And then the face behind the mask was Brock's and he couldn't stop crying and why, why, why was it Brock? It should have been _him_....  

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There is an end in sight... I promise. ;)


	20. Chapter 20

"So, after we repaired that injury we noticed that your appendix decided that now was a terrific time to explode. So we nipped that in the bud too." The doctor smiled, very proud of himself. 

"Did you take out my tonsils too? How about my wisdom teeth?" Jack croaked, his throat raw from the intubation. "I don't need my left arm, you could give it to someone who could use it." There were more flowers. Carnations this time, pink ones. And a pile of books and magazines. One looked like a tabloid about Captain America from the grocery store check out. 

The doctor laughed and patted him on the shoulder. "Keep that sense of humor. You should be out of here by the end of the week. Good thing you've got the SHIELD health plan, right _hero_? Do you need us to notify anyone?" 

Jack shook his head. Brock was listed as his next of kin. And where was he now, did anyone know? The doctor left his room and Jack resisted the urge to click his dosage button. He didn't want another dream like that last one. He picked up the lurid tabloid, _Secrets of Captain America_! 

Jack snorted. They really had no fucking clue. A smug smile curled over his lips as he read the various factoids that the authors had gleaned from interviews and first hand accounts. Not one of them mentioned that Steve loved a couple of hard cocks up his ass at the same time. That made him think about Brock's dick rubbing up against his deep inside Rogers and how he stared into Jack's eyes as he came. Jack turned the page and nearly dropped the magazine. 

The Asset stared out from the tabloid pages at him with haunted eyes. "Fuck me," Jack uttered and looked twice and then again. There was no mistaking it. The Asset had a name once. _James Buchanan Barnes._  Jack started laughing. He'd been fucking not just one, but _two_  heroes of World War 2. Did Brock know about this? Oh my god, Brock would die laughing... The laughter turned to weeping and Jack clicked his button to escape his memories.

* * *

 

Rough hands shook him awake in the dead of night and Jack blearily blinked. " _Rollins_. We need you to come with us." He didn't place the faces in the STRIKE uniforms, maybe a different team? He got into the waiting wheelchair and tucked his gown around his legs. He felt smaller in the chair, he'd lost a lot of weight and muscle tone. The hallways blended together in a smear of institutional green and fluorescent lighting. "Sorry, but you're the only one who can do this."

"It's always nice to feel wanted." Rollins shrugged, numb to the possibilities. His surroundings started to look familiar. When they stopped, he was sitting in front of the room without cameras and consequences. They opened the door and the fully armed team behind his wheelchair faded into the background. The Asset-- _No! His name was James,_ loomed in full uniform, masked and armed to the teeth. There was a body under the metal bench. Looked like native clothing. Black bagged and tagged. The STRIKE team gave Rollins' wheelchair a little push and then shut the door behind him. 

"Hey." Jack ventured, his voice harsh. "I'm sorry I forgot the gum." He lifted up his gown, peeled off his bandages and displayed his red sutured and stapled wounds. "I kinda-- fell apart." He sat in the wheelchair and waited for the Asset to approach him. He squinted at the body behind the assassin. Poor bastard was bound and gagged, facing the wall. "Bringing home presents?" 

The Asset took off his goggles and the muzzle, he leaned over Rollins and rubbed his face along Rollins' stubble. "You don't smell right." He kissed Jack's eyelids, one at a time and Jack's stomach turned over. "Were you brave without me?" He could see it now, the man behind the legend, even after being erased, over and over again.

"I was mostly unconscious." Jack smiled, "Damn I missed you. And-- and I need to talk to you about something." He threw caution to the wind, what did it matter? Brock was gone. What could HYDRA or SHIELD do to him that was worse than that? He was a fucking hero, goddamnit and this man, this man had a _name_. 

Before he could say more, the Asset grinned and pointed at the body on the floor. "I brought you a present this time. Go. Go!" He practically dumped Jack out of the wheelchair in glee and clapped his hands together with a little stomp of his feet. Jack gathered up his gown and carefully moved to the body. Surely the Asset had disarmed the guy, he wouldn't let Jack be injured by stupidity.

Jack rolled him over and took off the black bag on his head. His mouth fell open. A furious Brock was staring up at him with murder in his eyes. Jack fumbled with the gag, his weak feeble fingers nearly failed him. He sobbed hard enough to disturb his stitches, red blotches appeared on the blue hospital gown. "Brock! Oh my god." He sank to his knees and ran his hands all over Brock's body. "You-- you--"

Brock worked his lips and smacked his mouth. "God fucking damn it Jack, your  _pet_ is really going to get it for this. He went off mission and took me fucking hostage!" Brock had no idea, no idea. Jack had  _mourned_ him. His heart pounded in his chest and tears cascaded down his cheeks. 

"I brought the Commander home for you." The Asset squatted down beside Jack and sliced Brock's restraints with a quick easy flick of a blade. "I thought you'd like that better than bubblegum." He licked his lips and shrugged liquidly, "I prefer the gum. It is  _quieter._ " This wasn't a dream, it wasn't. They were both here and they were with him and-- and-- Jack slumped backwards into their arms.

They held him close as Jack shivered and then Brock stumbled out to get help. "Hang in there, Jack. I'm coming back for you. Hang in there!" Brock ordered, the fear in his voice shocking and loud.

The Asset-- no the Winter Soldier--no _James Buchanan Barnes_ played with his hair and sang into his ear, " _I'm addicted to you. Don't you know that you're toxic?"_ His idea of a lullaby, what the fuck had Jack done? What had HYDRA done? He brought Brock home to him, saved his life. He couldn't let that debt go-- 

"You have a name--" Jack choked out before his body failed him, he clutched at the front of the Asset's uniform. He looked at Jack with confused blue eyes and Jack slumped into his embrace. He tried to sign the letters, but his fingers were clumsy and numb. _I can't fucking pass out again, I just can't--_

 

* * *

 

The far too familiar beep of the monitors brought Jack back, his wounds ached and he sat bolt upright. "Brock! James!" He called out and a firm hand caught his, stroked along the edge of his palm.

"Take it easy, Big Guy. I'm here." Brock said, soothingly. "But who the fuck is this James guy? I'm gonna get jealous." He looked like hell, but he was here and Jack sighed in relief. 

Jack reached over to the side table and picked up the tabloid. He spread open the pages and pointed. "I think we need to talk."

Brock blinked. "No _fucking_ way." He grabbed the pages and squinted at the photos. "No _fucking_ way." 

"We have to tell him." Jack said and watched as Brock looked at the floor, away from him. "He has to know!"

"Jack. We-- can't. We can't tell him." Brock folded up the paper. "We can't."

"Is that because of Steve? Are you afraid of what he'd do to us?" Jack shook his head. "It's not right, Brock. It's not right," he pleaded.

"It doesn't matter." Brock rubbed his face. "After what he did, I'm sorry Jack. They-- they put him back in the _chair_." Jack's mouth opened and closed in shock. "He doesn't remember us, Jack. He doesn't remember anything, not anymore." 

"You're lying." Jack said weakly. He had to be.

Brock grabbed his hand again, "Babe, why would I lie about that? I don't like it, I never liked it, but I know how you felt about him. And," Brock swallowed, "I'm sorry. I really am. But, he's--  _it's_ a weapon now. And he's never going to remember what you two had." Brock watched Jack's face crumple and he added, "Maybe, after Insight, maybe we can ask to have him. You know? As a reward? They won't need him anymore, so we could you know, take him in. Make him pancakes. Lots of syrup and butter." Brock smiled with too many teeth, "Doesn't that sound good?" 

Jack nodded, but it didn't stop his shaking. "Yeah. Okay. We-- we'll do that." His lip quivered and Brock climbed up into the hospital bed with him. He snuggled up to Jack, careful to not jostle his tubing or sutures. "What are we going to tell Steve?" 

" _Nothing_. He's already dead to him. And we don't want to set the world on fire, not just yet." Brock nuzzled into his neck, smelling of cheap body spray and hair gel. "It's okay, Big Guy. It's okay. I love you. You love me. We're survivors, man. We'll take on the whole fucking world together." He interlaced their fingers. "You and me, Jack. Always."

And Jack believed him with a hole gnawed in his heart. _What else could he do_?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Almost there... Almost...


	21. Chapter 21

The only thing worse than being dead, in Jack's humble opinion, was being useless. Dead weight. He padded about the house in between home health visits. He didn't look the same as he did, older and smaller. There were lines about his eyes and fuck it, grey hairs were popping up in places they hadn't before. Community acquired infection, that's what they'd called it. Pretty way of saying too many sick people in one place, sharing shit. So, at least six weeks leave and plenty of rest. 

Jack would rest when he was dead. That's what he kept telling himself. 

He made dinner and waited for Brock to come home. 

He tipped the dinner into the trash at midnight. 

Brock stumbled into the house at dawn, dropping bits of clothing in a trail to the bedroom.  Jack pulled back the covers and Brock fell into bed, into his arms. He'd showered and the cheap body spray soothed Jack's frazzled nerves. "Mmm." Brock nuzzled into his neck. "Miss you out there. Having you on my six." 

"Miss being out there with you. Soon. I'll get released and we'll go cause some mayhem, how about that?" Jack babbled and petted Brock's hair. There was no answer other than soft exhausted snoring. And that was enough. 

He'd lost the Asset, he wasn't going to lose Brock. He stared at the ceiling and held Brock tightly. Never again. No more weakness. 

* * *

 

It was time for his psych eval, not the shitty SHIELD formality, but the one that really counted. How many times had he walked these halls into the room of no consequences? He waved his keycard and the door opened. Curious eyes flickered over him and he squared his shoulders.

Out of sheer morbid curiosity, Jack walked down the corridor to the room. He waved his keycard. _Denied_. He looked through the window. Sean's mother caught his eye, held his gaze and then looked down at her work. Once more, he waved his keycard.  _Denied._

Made sense, there was no reason that he'd still have access. He wasn't a handler anymore. Grief clutched at his heart and he shook it off. No more feelings. James,  _no, the Asset_ , wouldn't know him anymore. He tapped on the glass until she sighed heavily and opened the door. She stepped into the hall with Jack and the door slid shut behind her. "What?" 

Jack reached into his wallet and pulled out some money. "Sorry. I never got to the store for a replacement for your soap." He tucked it into her hand and her brows knitted together. "I-- I don't like having unpaid debts. So-- how are things going, down here?" 

She looked at her feet. "Within normal parameters. You should go." 

Jack nodded, "Um. Okay. Sure. Nice seeing you again." Impulsively, he asked, "How's Sean?" 

Her chin snapped up, "He's at college. Out of state. How do you know my son?" 

"Ordered a lot of Chinese food. He's a good kid." Jack rubbed the back of his neck. "So, yeah. I've got my psych eval in a few. Think I'll pass?" He tried to smile with good humor, but it was brittle. 

She didn't answer. She turned to swipe her keycard and Jack caught her about her elbow. He said in a low, quiet tone, "Is he  _okay_?" She paused and then shook her head. "Does he miss me?" She swiped her keycard again, shook off his hand and walked away. Jack watched her return to her station and after a few moments, continued on his way. 

No more weakness, he squared his shoulders and knocked. "Come in, come in. We've been waiting for you Mr. Rollins." 

 _Piece of fucking cake_. HYDRA wasn't looking for sane or stable, they were looking for loyal. He answered their questions, looked at their inkblots and sat in their _special_ chair. He felt better than he had in ages afterwards, more focused on what really mattered. He made a mental note to return for another session to clear out the cobwebs. It was the right thing to do.

"Looks like you're good to go then." Brock was leaning beside the door as Jack left. "Hungry?" 

"I thought you were in Ecuador?" Jack yawned. "I'm on security detail until they clear me for active duty again." Brock smiled in approval and Jack beamed. "Feel like Chinese?" 

"Feels weird to be back down here, doesn't it?" He stared intently at Jack, waiting for something. "Anyone you want to go see?"

Jack squinted, "Huh? It was just a psych eval. What the fuck are you talking about?" Something nagged in the back of his brain, a thought that hovered on the edge of memory. Jack shook his head, "Are you dicking with me?" 

Brock shrugged, "Sure Big Guy. Chinese sounds great." Brock punched him affectionately on the shoulder. "The whole team is glad to have you back. Something about keeping me out of trouble. Myself, I'm just looking forward to having someone competent next to me. Have you ever shared a foxhole with Murphy? I nearly shot myself." They walked to the locker room so Brock could change. 

 

Jack opened his locker and pulled out his gear. He shook out the wrinkles of his flak jacket. Something fell from a pocket. He stooped down and picked it up. A crumpled bubble gum wrapper. He sniffed the paper and smiled at the sweet scent.  _He'd always loved that smell_.

"You ready?" Brock called out. He put the wrapper in his trouser pocket and shut the locker. 

"Yep." It felt so good to be back. 

 


	22. Chapter 22

_"Everything gets taken away from me."_

Jack's coffee sloshed as he startled. He looked up and stared at a man who was chatting on his phone. "I mean seriously, I just bought that car." The coffee shop was busy and chattering conversations overlapped. Jack took a sip of his coffee. _Weird_. He'd been startling at small things lately, movements just out of the corners of his eyes. But that was the first time he'd freaked out at something someone said. He should tell Brock. 

Nah. It would just get him dragged back into medical and Jack had had far too much attention from doctors lately. He thought about the day he first met Brock, he'd spilled his coffee that day too, took it as an omen for the SHIELD selection process. He ran the course, took the tests and waited. Then this fucking beautiful man walked into the room, sized him up with a single glance and offered him his hand. "Commander Brock Rumlow. We're going to be working together. Demolitions specialist, huh?" 

Jack remembered taking his hand and smiling. "Jack Rollins. Set 'em up and I'll bring 'em down, sir." It wasn't right for a man to be that good-looking and dangerous. He swallowed back his nerves and for a moment, a fleeting moment, he thought Brock had caught wind of his inappropriate lustful thoughts. He cocked his head to the side and appraised Jack in a very through manner, still holding his hand. 

"Well, let's get you to psych testing and see if you clear that final hurdle. Hope you do. I'm looking forward to working with you, Rollins." Then he sauntered out wearing a sinfully tight t-shirt under his weapons harness. Jack watched his ass on the way out and reminded himself that this was a job interview, not a gay bar. That outfit would work in both places though, especially on leather daddy night...

When had he stopped going to bars? He hadn't been out cruising since he'd gotten the job. It was if his world revolved around STRIKE with Brock at its center. Jack shrugged, like he could have found anyone better than Brock. Even if he'd never been a monogamous kind of guy in the past. Brock was perfect. Brock was-- He drew a five-pointed star in the spilled coffee absently. Yeah, everything was just fine.

He wiped up the coffee with a napkin. His to go order was ready. Fuck if he was going to drink that swill that Murphy brewed. Organic. Arsenic was  _organic_. 

* * *

 

Steve Rogers pulled up a seat next to Jack at the very back of the room, a cup of good coffee in his hand. "How are you holding up, Jack?" His eyelashes were so long and thick, like a girl's. Rogers wasn't his type, not in the least, he liked men smaller than he was, so why was his mouth dry? He took a sip of his black coffee. "You look a lot better than when I last saw you."

Jack grunted. "About that. I might have said some things... I was on a lot of drugs." Guilt cramped in his stomach and squeezed his guts. Why? "I-- I never said thank you for saving me." That had to be it.

Rogers shrugged, "I don't have a lot of friends. Figured you'd do the same for me."

Would I? Only if they ordered me to. Jack frowned. "And thanks for bringing Brock back to me. He's a huge pain in the ass, but he's all I have."

Rogers looked confused, his brows knitted together and he started to say, "But I--,"

Brock interrupted from the front of the room, "All eyes on me! Thank you. There's been an uprising in Wacovia, but for right now we're just in observation mode. The usual suspects." That was where Jack had been captured and rescued. "Now, there's been a complaint from HR about not filling out the proper time sheets on the main server. Good god, a monkey could figure out that interface. So if you need help, just ask HR." 

Jack nodded and tuned out the bureaucratic bullshit. Life was going to be so much easier after Insight. His knuckles were white around his coffee cup, he stared into the distance. Rogers clapped his hand on his shoulder and gripped just hard enough to let Rollins know that he wasn't alone. Rollins couldn't look at Steve. He squeezed his eyes together and fought back the tears that threatened to spill out. _Not here_. His shoulders shook and he was going to lose it... 

Rogers stood up, opened the door behind them and guided Jack out with a hand on his back. He stared down anyone who dared look at them including Brock who narrowed his eyes and continued with his briefing. 

"You can't save everybody, Rogers." Jack hissed, his cheeks flushed red with embarrassment. He leaned over and splashed cold water on his face. 

"Only the ones that tell me they love me." Steve smiled in good humor and he leaned back against a sink.

"Oh _fuck_. Did I mention I was on a  _lot_ of drugs?" Jack groaned. "I don't really remember a lot. It's all patchy up there, like a recording over a recording. Did I really say that?" 

Steve nodded. "I make a point of remembering every single person who told me they loved me. I'm sentimental like that." He ticked off his fingers. "My mother. My father. Peggy." He paused, "Bucky. And Jack Rollins of STRIKE Team Alpha." 

Jack blinked. "Who the hell is Bucky?" He squinted at the mirror, he looked like hell. "Your dog?" 

Steve crossed his massive arms and before he could speak, Brock burst into the bathroom. "You alright?" He looked more than just concerned. "I know that briefing was total bullshit, but _really_?" The bathroom was too small for all three of them and Jack started to feel claustrophobic. 

"I-- I just had a moment. And Cap here was feeling protective. And I don't think he fills out any of the HR forms anyway." He turned off the tap. 

Steve shook his head and with a wide grin said, "Aw shucks. Too complicated for my poor freezer-burnt brain. Just looking out for the only other guy who can see at my level, short stuff." He patted Jack on the shoulder as he left. "One day at a time soldier, one day at a time."   

"Do you need more time off?" Brock asked after the door closed, "You need to talk to me about these things." 

"You can't babysit me and command. Ignore me. I've got it under control. I just-- I didn't want to compromise-- We're all supposed to be friends, right?" Brock nodded. "We'll have to have him over again. That was fun. Maybe a different movie though, I don't think he liked _Titanic._ " 

"So, you're not jealous?" Brock looked at his fingernails, "You're okay with me fucking Rogers? Like right here in this bathroom? Opening him up with my tongue and fucking him up against this sink?" 

Jack raised an eyebrow at the graphic description. Was Brock trying to get a rise out of him? He wasn't the jealous type. "Why wouldn't I be? I know you love me. That's all that matters." Jack held open his arms and Brock stepped into his embrace. "You're always looking out for me. I love you." He buried his nose in Brock's hair. "Only you." 

Brock grinned with all of his teeth. "That's the way it should be Big Guy. The _only_ way it should be. Now get your ass back into that briefing room or I'm putting you on Tour Guide duty for the kindergarten set." He kissed Jack and made a happy sound deep in his throat that gave Jack goosebumps. 

He was so _lucky_.


	23. Chapter 23

Jack was eating his lunch in the SHIELD cafeteria. He speared the last of his pasta and lifted his fork. Not bad. Needed a little more pepper, but not bad. "Hey Jack!" Steve Rogers set his tray down beside Jack's. Jack choked on his pasta and Steve slapped him between his shoulders. "You okay?" 

"A little bruised now, thanks." Jack took a sip of water. "What brings you down here? Don't you usually have lunch with Romanov?" 

"Shh. I'm hiding from her matchmaking. It's her goal in life to stop me from being a lonely old spinster." Steve tucked into some sliced chicken breast and veggies. "I'm waiting to see how long it takes her to get bored."

Jack stared at the pile of food on Steve's plate. "Make sure she's a good cook. Damn. I know you've got to keep your energy up, but damn. That's enough for an entire high school wrestling team." 

Steve shrugged. "I hardly taste it anymore. I have to take in so much just to keep moving. Heightened metabolism." He chewed and pulled out his wallet. He spread open the plastic photo holders, just like a grandma showing off her grandbabies to a stranger. "That's Bucky. Sergeant James Buchanan Barnes." He tapped his finger on the plastic proudly. "You asked." 

"I think that was a rhetorical question Rogers." Jack sighed, and he indulged Rogers with a glance at the grainy black and white photo. "Cute." Another Army man all done up in his dress mess. "Was he your boyfriend?" 

"He was my _everything_." Rogers stirred mashed potatoes around with his fork. "You know how you feel about Brock? Well, that feeling doesn't go away even after seventy years on ice." He took a bite and swallowed, "I don't want him to be forgotten. One of the reasons I'm working with the Smithsonian. I chose this life. He was drafted. And I lost him." Steve made a face. "Needs pepper. Be right back." He stood up and strode towards the condiments. 

Jack looked closer at the wallet, flipped the photo pages and stopped. His thumb covered Barnes' smile and only his eyes showed. Haunted, shadowed eyes that had seen too much too soon. They seemed so familiar, and yet how could they be? He was long dead, this Bucky, so why did that wounded stare feel so intimate? He didn't notice when Steve sat back down and ate the rest of his potatoes.

"Sorry. I thought I knew him for a moment." Jack rubbed his face and handed the wallet back to Steve. "Thought I knew him." Jack muttered. His head hurt for some reason. "Must have one of those faces, you know?" Steve nodded and began eating his lasagna. They sat in silence while Jack nursed his water and wondered why his pulse was racing, why his heart was in his throat.

Steve set down his fork, the plate of food was gone. "See you around, Jack." He took Jack's tray too and walked over to the washer station. SHIELD personnel parted in front of him in awe and Steve looked over their heads or at their feet.

In the dark recesses of Jack's mind something whispered spitefully, _What a fucking prick_.

* * *

 

Brock was out of town for a conference or some shit like that. You couldn't pay Jack enough to be in command and have to do all that bureaucratic mumbo jumbo. Nope. He was content to shoot things and blow them up all in the name of freedom. 

Jack walked down the aisles of the bodega, flickering fluorescent lights casting shadows on the shelves. He had a six pack in one hand, some random body wash and a pack of toilet paper under his arm. He'd walked these aisles hundreds of times before, mindless meanderings. He stopped in front of the candy aisle. 

His hand reached out and without thinking, plucked a pack of saccharine pink bubble gum from the display.

He strode to the cashier and swiped his card. The clerk looked at him in concern. "What?" Jack said.

"Are you alright sir?" He pointed at the security mirror above the register. "You are crying."

Jack peered into the distorted mirror. His cheeks were wet. He wiped at his face with the back of his hand. "Yeah. Sure. Allergies. You know." He shrugged and took his purchases. In the car, he looked at himself until his stomach churned and he slapped the vanity mirror back into place.

What the fuck was wrong with him? He breathed hard and drove home. 

Jack sat at his kitchen table. He blinked.

He blinked again. Where had the last hour gone? His sidearm was on the table, oiled and cleaned. That was normal. But what was _that_ beside his gun?

It looked like-- he had _field stripped_ the pack of bubble gum. Cubes of pink sweetened polymer and smoothed wrappers were neatly lined up in rows. Written on the wrappers, smeared in red blood, was the word  _SORRY._  Jack tasted copper in his mouth, touched his lips. His nose was bleeding.  _What the fuck?_

He washed his face and stared into the bathroom mirror. He wasn't going crazy. He wasn't. He couldn't tell anyone, he couldn't risk getting taken out of the field, not now. Not after he'd worked so hard to be reinstated. He turned on the shower and stepped in, fully clothed. He'd had one of these showers before, he knew it. Why did it smell like coconut and papaya? He stayed there until the water ran cold. 

" _A guy like you should wear a warning..."_ He mouthed the words to the pop tune and fell to the tiled floor as the cold water beat down upon him. Just out of reach, just out of reach. He strained and fought, fought to remember what had been taken from him. 

He stood up and stripped off his wet clothes. Jack sat naked on the couch and chewed a cube of gum until the flavor diminished. He ordered a documentary on Steve Rogers on pay-per-view. He watched until Bucky Barnes appeared in grainy newsreel footage. He laughed with Steve, the corners of his eyes crinkling. Jack rewound it. Watched it again. Rewound. Again. Again. Again. 

"I've run out of things for you to steal from me." Jack said to no one in particular and noisily threw up in the kitchen sink. He watched his vomit swirl down the drain and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand.

It was a good thing that Brock was in Belize.  Because Jack felt like strangling someone with his bare hands. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You can only record over the same media so many times until all you have is a mishmash of previous recordings, whispers of forgotten moments.


	24. Chapter 24

Jack scanned the cafeteria looking for his mark. Ah, there he was. Wearing a blue shirt in the sea of black and grey. Sitting by himself, of course, with more food than one normal person could eat at a sitting. Jack sauntered over and sat across from Steve. "This seat taken?" The delighted smile that crept across Steve's face was a little pathetic. 

"Nope." Steve took a swallow of orange juice. "Never get used to having fresh produce out of season."

Jack leaned closer. "We're real spoiled now. Actually, I wanted to talk to you about the old days." Steve's eyes narrowed in suspicion and Jack smiled reassuringly. Come on you asshole, _spill it_.

"Well, what do you want to know? I'm not exactly the least biased of historians." He leaned on his hand, resigned to answering trivial matters about music or some other cultural touchstone. 

"Tell me about Barnes." Jack's mouth went dry as he said the name. He was real. He wasn't a figment of Jack's overtaxed mind. 

"Why do you want to know about Bucky?" Real curiosity now, but Rogers was still guarded. Jack had to loosen his tongue. He licked his lips and averted his gaze for a moment. 

"Because I like the way your face lights up when you talk about him. And I don't think you've had the chance to properly mourn yet." Jack picked up his fork, "I lost my mother a few years back. Cancer. That was a slow death, one that I had time to prepare for. My dad, well, he got hit by a car in front of me. And I couldn't do a damn thing to stop it. My parents were deaf and I-- couldn't shout loud enough to change a thing for either of them." That hurt more to say than Jack was willing to admit. Some wounds never truly scabbed over. 

Steve blinked his big blue guileless eyes and said, "I'm sorry." _It was worth it._

"It is what it is. But I wanted you to know that you're not the only one who has had a loved one die in front of them. And you don't have to deal with it alone." _How could you let him fall? How could you? Do you know what they did to your beloved Bucky? Do you know what they're still doing to him?_  "You saw how crazy I was when I thought Brock was gone," Jack hadn't seen Brock in over a week. What he was doing to the Asset without Jack there to protect him? He clenched his fingers on his thigh under the table. "Can't imagine holding that all in. Day after day." 

"You get used to it." Steve's shoulders slumped and he dragged his fork through some jello. 

Jack nudged Steve's foot with his boot. Steve looked up in surprise at the contact and Jack said with sincere concern, "But you shouldn't have to. That's the point Steve." 

Steve neatly speared a cube of jello and let it melt in his mouth before speaking, "Once, I was defending Delores O'Hara's honor. She was a nice girl and nobody deserves that kind of talk. And I was getting the ever loving shit kicked out of me. Like usual."

Steve huffed a slight sigh, "Bucky broke up the fight by dumping a piss bucket on the Sanderson brothers from the third floor. Then he dropped the bucket itself right on Jimmy's head. It rang like a gong and dropped him flat on his ass."

Steve slapped the table. "They limped off smelling like the sewer and Bucky asked Delores to go dancing. She looked at him and said, "Nope. You've already got someone you hang the stars for Mr. Barnes."" Steve's voice went soft, it was hard to hear over the din of the cafeteria. 

"That night Bucky kissed me for the first time, he said that 'words meant nothing, actions were what mattered'." Jack had to look at his food, blink back the weakness behind his eyes. There was something there even after all the mindwipes and cryofreezes. If Jack could shake it off, maybe, just maybe... 

"You know how it feels, to trust someone not just with your life, but with your whole being? Of course you do, I've seen the way you look at Rumlow." Jack's stomach lurched. How much of what he felt for Rumlow was from his heart? How much of his devotion was programmed into his brain? How could he trust anything he felt anymore? 

"Rumlow held my hand as I buried my mother." Was that for real? Did Brock give two shits about him or was he just the least troublesome option? _He said that he loved me_. And I can't believe him. Not anymore. I want him, I need him but I can't-- I can't-- "We've been through some shit, yeah." 

Jack blurted out, "Do you think you can love more than one person, Steve?" The Asset trusted him, innocent as a child. He'd earned that trust by playing on the side of the angels and that love was the only thing Jack could be sure of. It was pure and uncompromised. Sweet as bubblegum.

And Rogers was the competition. He had to go. Insight had to succeed, now more than ever.

"Well, yeah. I'm pretty damn sure of it actually." Right. Jack took a sip of cold coffee. He'd forgotten about the other great love of Steve Rogers' life. Lucky bastard. Some men have all the breaks. _You lost him. He's not your Bucky anymore. He's mine._

Steve lowered his voice and leaned in close, "Jack, I mean you're great and everything, but--" 

Jack groaned and flipped Steve off. "I wasn't confessing a crush Rogers. _Jesus Christ_." 

"Good, because I think Brock would murder me in my sleep." Steve ate a piece of pasta. 

"Nah, he'd shiv you in your back and then watch you bleed out." Jack said quietly, food didn't taste good anymore. "That's just his style." 

 

 


	25. Chapter 25

Traffic. Cars were stacked up as far as the eye could see. "Fuck." Brock checked his phone and chucked it into the cupholder with a groan. "As long as we get there before three, we should be fine." 

"See why I said we had to leave early?" Jack leaned his arm against the driver's side door. "It's always like this before the weekend." It was hard to sit next to Brock in the car without thinking about all the doubts whispering in his brain, but he had to. He had to play the dutiful boyfriend, but the problem with playing pretend was that eventually you'd start to believe your own bullshit.  

"Yeah. I'd forgotten." Brock rubbed his eyes. "I need more sleep. Sorry." His eyes were dark shadowed with fatigue and he leaned his seat back. The seat rubbed against the garment bags in the back seat with a crinkle. 

Jack nodded. "You've been gone a long time." It was good that he had been gone though. Jack's homicidal impulses had dwindled to manageable levels. He glanced at Brock and thought about squeezing his hands around his throat while they fucked. "Rough mission?" 

"Redundancy training. They pounded the launch sequences into my brain." Brock sniffed, "Can change the future of the world, blindfolded, with these fingers." He looked at his hands and let them fall into his lap. "Holy fuck, I never thought... I never thought we'd get this far. Don't tell anyone that." He held up a warning finger.

"Can't let your true believer status lapse, can you?" You'd do anything they asked you to do, wouldn't you Brock? "Do you regret anything you've done?" Jack's fingers clenched about the steering wheel and they inched forward a few feet. 

"So many things." Brock sighed as if the weight of the world pressed down upon his shoulders, "I just tell myself it was all for the greater good. That's all that matters, right? When you start questioning things then that's when you make mistakes. You have to just keep moving forward. Stop swimming and you die, just like a dolphin." 

Jack shook his head. "That's sharks, dumbass." 

"Is it?" Brock scratched his head. "Yeah, I guess it is. Lord, I'm so fucking tired. I can't wait until this is all over and we can-- we can-- I dunno, sleep?"   

There was silence for a few achingly slow miles. The van in front of them blocked all of Jack's field of vision so he stayed in his lane and thought about long dark hair spilling through his fingers like silk. He startled when Brock put his hand on his thigh. 

Brock said quietly, "I'm-- I'm not out to my family, Jack. Other than Caroline. And you've never met her." 

Jack nodded, "Yeah, I was pretty sure of that." Jack hadn't seen the need for a closet after he kicked the shit out of the last fucker who called him names in high school. Sure, he'd had to miss the rest of the football season after that, but it was worth it. He wouldn't have fucked any of those boys in his class anyway, little poofs. He needed something more masculine, more _dangerous_. Yeah, he had a type. Kiss me. Kick me. Kill me. "Any assholes I need to stare down?" 

"Aunt Geraldine. Cousin Ilona. Maybe Grandma Iris..." Jack chuckled at the thought of kicking Grandma in the junk. "I just didn't want you to be blindsided. They can be real bitches." 

"Well, thanks for that. Weddings are such a great time to kick open the closet door. Everyone's so happy and drunk off their asses. Good thing I insisted on getting a room at the venue, because I'm going to make best friends with the bartender." Jack couldn't resist an extra jab, "You could have come out  _years_ ago. I'm not happy being your little secret, Brock. I don't like secrets. I don't like being _used_." 

"Yeah, I'm a selfish prick. I got that. But I'm happy now and they can all just fuck off!" Brock spat. 

"You're happy?" Jack asked, not believing anything that Brock said,  "With me?" 

"Yeah, why not?" Brock stared out the window. "Use your fucking blinkers, you savages." 

"'Cause you're fucking Rogers." Because you had me mindwiped. Because you've lied to me so many times I can't tell what's real and what's not. Because you're still so beautiful it makes my heart hurt, but I can't believe that you love me. Not the way that I love you. Because you are Brock Rumlow and I should have fucking _known better_. 

"Nope. He called that off, thank god. It's exhausting having to pretend to _like_ someone all the time." Brock frowned, "And he's _always_ up for it. I mean, Christ on a cracker, a guy has to _sleep_ sometimes. And he never wanted to be aggressive, never wanted to you know, take charge or slap me around. Good riddance."

Brock snorted, "He said that we'd had some fun, but that he didn't want to get between you and I. Said that we had a good thing going on." 

"Do we?" Jack whispered, unable to keep the doubt and fear out of his voice. 

Brock rubbed his thumb on Jack's thigh, "Look, Jack. I've had about 8 total hours of sleep in the past week. I'm going to go out myself to my whole family and everyone they know in that hick town. I have to make a toast to the happy couple even though I know that my future brother-in-law is a slimeball and my sister is 2 months pregnant with someone else's kid. I have to wear a tuxedo with _ruffles_. So forgive me if I don't want to have a heart to heart about our relationship, which is in my humble opinion the only good, stable thing in my fucked up life. _Okay_?" He folded his arms and looked out the window. Traffic started to move. 

Jack turned on the stereo. _Hit me baby one more time_. Brock moaned, "The Best of Britany Spears? Isn't that an oxymoron? Where the fuck is the neck pillow?" He groped around behind his seat and found the squishy foam pillow. 

"Driver picks the music..." Jack turned up the volume. 

"Shotgun shuts his cakehole. Blah blah." Brock closed his eyes again and was snoring before the next song began. Jack tapped his thumb on the wheel and thought about different ways to execute the asshole drivers stacked up in front of him. It was a pleasant way to pass the time.

Stopped at construction, Jack glanced over at Brock. His face was slack with relaxation, his hair trailed over his eyes. It would be so easy to just end everything, right now. Jack pushed back Brock's hair and Brock snuggled into his touch, so trusting. 

Jack put both of his hands on the steering wheel. What if Brock loved him? Truly loved him the way that Jack hoped? He was so weak, such a sentimental fool. Wait until after Insight, Jack told himself. He'd fix everything then. 

 _Oops I did it again played with your heart got lost in the game..._    

 


	26. Chapter 26

Jack fingered the flask in his suit interior pocket. He'd been tempted to break into it quite a few times and they weren't even done with the photography yet. He watched as Brock gritted his teeth in a facsimile of a smile in the line-up of groomsmen. 

When Brock had called his family _poor white trash_ Jack had laughed, but after witnessing the parade of losers in the wedding party, Brock had been telling the truth. First time for everything, he snickered maliciously. Brock looked over at him, his fist clenched tight. Jack opened his suit jacket and flashed the shiny silver flask at Brock. 

Brock mouthed the words, "You bastard," at Jack as the photographer snapped shots and Jack laughed. It felt good. _Really good_. Why couldn't it always be like this? Why couldn't he forget? He certainly couldn't _forgive_.

Brock rolled his eyes as he posed with his sister, Caroline looked pretty good for being pregnant. Maybe bridal glow was the same thing as pregnancy glow.

Brock smiled for the camera and even in his ridiculous tuxedo he was still the best looking person here. And some of the bridesmaids were going to be so disappointed. Brock hadn't told anyone yet, obviously. He was here with his _buddy_ , Jack. Well, Jack was going to drag that poofy haired bastard out of the closet, kicking and screaming if he had to. He owed it to Brock, he owed him at least that much. Was it petty? Sure. But it would be so satisfying too.

* * *

 

At least the ceremony was quick. Eternal love was professed and swore to and Jack only laughed once during the ceremony. Well, the flower girls were pretty adorable. Everyone laughed with the little girls as they dumped flowers on the runner and then ran off to their mothers. 

A few of the women in the congregation made muffled sounds of appreciation as Brock escorted the matron-of-honor up the aisle. He might look like a dream, ladies, but he's more of a nightmare. A nightmare with fantastic cheekbones. " _Damn_ Brock." Jack muttered under his breath. The little old lady seated next to him looked at him sharply. Jack winked at her and she flushed red, scandalized. 

Jack sat down at a candle-lit table with a drink and waited for Brock to escape the post-ceremony photography. Open flame, alcohol and various plastics, all the things you needed for highly flammable fun. Jack thought about at least ten different ways he could make this tent explode. He hadn't gotten to blow up anything in a long time and he missed it. The smell of C4, a whiff of dynamite. No witnesses, no survivors. Good times. Good times.  

The DJ started to play, the bride and groom took the dance floor. Everyone watched and applauded as they swayed. It was tolerably charming. Jack organized the confetti at his place setting by color. 

"So are you a friend of the bride or the groom?" A woman with a pinched face sat next to him with a plate of food. "Who did you come with? You don't look like anyone I know." There was something about the pinch of the woman's mouth that made Jack's fists itch.

"Bride. I'm with Brock. I'm Jack Rollins." He didn't offer her his hand, she didn't look up from her food.

"Oh. I'm Brock's aunt, Geraldine. You're a friend from his military job that he won't talk about?" Jack nodded. "We keep hoping that Brock's going to meet a nice girl and settle down. Stop making a fool of himself playing the hero."

"I can pretty much guarantee that's not going to happen." Jack sipped his drink and let the burn flow down his throat. No need to break into the good stuff in his flask yet. "Trust me on that." He smiled down at her and she squinted up at him. They both watched as Brock danced with a starry-eyed bridesmaid and then with one of the flower girls, she stepped on the toes of his shoes and he held her tiny hands as they danced.

"They look good together, Brock and the bridesmaid. Maybe I should set them up. Can't have the family beauty be a complete failure. He's always coasted by on his looks. Don't you agree, Mr. Rollins?" she snidely asked. 

"He sure is pretty." Jack agreed. "And that man, he's going to change the world. He's going to be in the history books, Commander Brock Rumlow. You didn't know that he's a Commander, did you? That he's responsible for protecting practically millions of lives? Everything else is _classified._ " He nodded, "You do understand the concept of national security, right?"  Defending Brock, Jack started to remember why he fell in love with him. Why he would sacrifice himself for that man. Why he wept when he thought that Brock was dead. "Just mark my words. He'll change the world."

"I sincerely doubt that." And Jack began making plans for Brock's aunt to disappear quietly in the night. 

That passion in his gut, it couldn't be just from a mind-wipe. It couldn't be totally manufactured, not for this long, not with this possessive intensity. When Jack loved, Jack loved with all his heart and soul. He always had. Whether it was his first boyfriend, his fucked up CO or a legendary assassin. Maybe not all of his memories were real, but did it really matter in the long run? People made up memories all the time. 

 _Was this gradual acceptance a part of his programming too?_ Jack shook his head. He still wanted to run his fingers through that glossy black hair, still wanted to hear Brock moan against his hot skin. 

Brock found his table and pulled up a seat beside him, his hair mussed from dancing. He took Jack's drink and drained it. "If another person tries to take my picture, I'm punching them in the throat." 

"Brock. I was just chatting with your companion." Brock actually shrank in upon himself, tried to make himself smaller. "I was hoping you'd have found a nice girl by now. You know, people are starting to talk..." She stood up and walked off to the buffet table. 

"You drank my bourbon. Get me a refill." Jack said and to his shock, Brock _obeyed_. He walked off with his shoulders hunched and meekly requested a replacement. Brock didn't even eyeball the bartender who was pretty damn hot and flirty. He'd never seen this side of Brock before and possessive anger sparked up, burned in his belly. 

"So when did you turn into a pussy?" Jack said evenly as Brock handed him his drink. Brock narrowed his eyes and sat down. "I'm just asking because I'm not really into chicks." 

"Fuck you." Brock took a sip of his own drink. "It's not that easy." 

"I can make it easy. All you have to do is give in, let me call the shots. Can you do that?" Jack crooned in Brock's ear. Brock was  _his._  And these fuckers were going to know it. "Just let me take point." 

Brock licked his lips and drained his glass. He nodded and Jack slid his hand over Brock's thigh. "I feel like dancing. Where's your grandmother?" Brock pointed her out and Jack stood up. "Always get in good with Gram-Gram." He sauntered over.

"May I have this dance?" Jack held out his hand and the octogenarian took it with a raised eyebrow. She smiled at him and Jack escorted her to the dance floor, moving as if she were made of glass. Or at least her hips were. "I just had to get a dance with the prettiest lady here," he said, working his easy charm. 

She scoffed. "I haven't heard that much bullshit since the last time I went to Fleet Week to meet some boys." Jack grinned. He liked the old broad already. "But keep dancing, hot stuff." 

"Your wish is my command." 

"I wish you'd take your clothes off and shimmy around for me," she ran her finger down his abdominals, "But you're a day late for the bachelorette party. Brock gets all the hot ones. Lucky boy." She pressed in close and sighed. "Muscles. You've got muscles on top of muscles."

"Ah." Jack grinned down at her, "So you know." 

"Boy, I've known since I saw my grandson discover hair gel and the high school quarterback at about the same time. How long have you two been together?"

"Five years. We live together." Jack hazarded a glance at the murmuring crowd. Curiosity mixed with fondness. Yep, always get in good with Gram-Gram to sway a crowd of hicks. 

"Planning on getting married? You can do that in this state, you know. Life's too short to be just fucking around all the time. You've got to find a good one and nail his ass to the church door." She chuckled at his mildly shocked expression.  "Do you love him? Because he's looking at you like you're made of stars and kittens." She smiled at Brock who was staring wide-eyed at them.

"Yeah. I do. He doesn't make it easy. He's a lying sack of shit sometimes." He looked at her frail bony hand. "He's done some terrible things to me. And I'm not sure I can get past that." 

"He's a Rumlow." She shrugged. "It's what we do. God help the poor fools who fall in love with us. Are you planning something wicked, young man?" 

"I was thinking about it." The music stopped and Jack walked her back to her table. "Something scandalous."

"Good. Good. And bring me a vodka tonic. I'm thirsty and my daughter won't let me near the bar." Jack slipped the drink to her while her pinch faced daughter wasn't looking and she winked at him. 

Jack sat back in his seat and speared a Swedish meatball with his fork. "I think I want your grandmother to move in with me. Yep, I'm leaving you for your grandma. It won't be easy, but I think we can make it work." Jack ate the meatball and rubbed Brock's thigh under the tablecloth.

"Asshole." Brock pinched the bridge of his nose and slumped in his seat. "You think this is funny?" 

Jack shrugged, it was amusing. "Yeah, she knows you're gay. For decades now. And you have her blessing." He finished his drink and held out his hand. Brock stared at it in disbelief. "Dance with me." 

"No." Brock squirmed, "I _can't_. Everyone is watching." For a man who enjoyed blood-soaked mayhem as much as Brock did, he sure was a chickenshit pantywaist around his family. Jack had had enough of it. 

"Dance with me. Or get out of my life." 

"What?" Brock's eyes widened and he leaned close as if he couldn't quite believe his ears. 

"I'll leave right now and have all your shit on the curb by the time you get back. I'm not your dirty secret." 

"You're threatening to break up with me if I don't dance with you?" Brock sputtered.

"It's not a threat. It's an ultimatum. We have a lot of secrets Brock, but loving each other? That shouldn't be one of them." They held each other's gaze and Jack continued, "Unless you don't love me. Unless this is all a lie. Unless this is all made up bullshit for your convenience." Brock stubbornly set his jaw and tried to stare Jack down. "So, what's it going to be Brock? Dance with me or get the fuck out of my life." 

There was a very long pause as Brock stared at Jack's outstretched hand. Jack held his breath and disappointment and certainty clutched at his heart. He lowered his hand slowly and looked at the piles of color-sorted confetti on the tablecloth. "I'll-- have your things in the garage then--"

Brock seized Jack's hand and pulled him onto the dance floor. Brock hissed in his ear, "At least, let me fucking lead, you bastard!" 

"Nope!" Jack pulled him close and for a moment, they forgot where they were and who was watching. It really didn't fucking matter. They had each other and fuck what the rest of the world might think. If they cared about that, they wouldn't have joined HYDRA in the first place.

"See. This isn't so bad." Jack murmured in his ear as they swayed from one slow song to the next. Jack made a mental note to tip the DJ for not spoiling the moment with the Macarena or the Chicken Dance. "One step after another. You should have done this years ago."

"Mmm." Brock mumbled, "I had a plan. I did." His head fit under Jack's chin perfectly. 

"Sure princess. Sure you did." Jack caught the eye of Gram-Gram and she flashed him a tipsy thumbs up. He smiled and thought about the future. Maybe it wasn't so bad after all. A tiny flicker of hope sprang up in the back of his mind. 

A small insistent tap on his leg. Jack looked down at a flower girl, her floral crown askew. "My turn!" She declared and pushed Brock out of the way. He held up his hands in surrender and the crowd tittered in amusement. She stepped up on Jack's shiny shoes and clutched his thumbs as he hunched over. Cameras flashed and Jack grinned. Jack was looking down at his tiny partner, so he didn't see the moment of stricken guilt that passed over Brock's face and vanished under his confident smirk. 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Comments are treasured. The author is neurotic.


	27. Chapter 27

"Everybody gather 'round for the garter toss!" The DJ announced. 

Brock made a disgusted face, "You get to do that. I am _not_ grabbing for my sister's underwear." His pastel blue bowtie was off-kilter and Jack leaned in close to adjust it. 

Jack murmured with bourbon scented breath in Brock's ear. "Bet you stole a pair though. Something new and silky. Put it on and paraded around your room until you stained it with your leaking cock?" Oh that was a pretty picture. "Rubbed yourself through the satin until you came, didn't you?" A brilliant red flush crept up Brock's neck and Jack longed to drag him back to their motel room right then. "I'm going to buy you the prettiest set of panties and stockings. Maybe some heels. You can strut for me, show off that sweet ass. Maybe I'd eat you out through the silk, lick you until you moaned my name."   

Brock adjusted his crotch under the tablecloth and turned to Jack. His eyes glimmered. "Believe me when I tell you this, because I mean it sincerely, _fuck you_."

"I take that as a yes." Jack chuckled and leaned back, his arm spread over the back of the chair. He rubbed his thumb over the nape of Brock's neck and stood up with a sigh. "You have to do the bouquet toss. Deal?" 

Brock flashed him a thumbs up. "Deal. Ilona needs to be taken down a peg or two. She's been a catty bitch all night." 

Jack cracked his knuckles. "You know what happens when you catch the flowers, right?"

"Yup. _Gloating_ _rights_." Brock's lips curled in a determined sneer and Jack had to turn away before laughing.

He joined the gathered men on the dance floor, standing at least a head taller than all of them. The groom took the garter off of the bride and shot it like a rubber band behind him. The men scattered like cockroaches in bright light and the garter landed limply on the dance floor. Jack muttered, "Pussies," and he scooped it up with a flourish. He looped it over his bicep as a few of the drunker women whooped and hollered. 

Jack made his way back to Brock, he was getting patted on the arm by Gram-Gram. She sighed, "So smooth Jack." She squeezed Brock's hand. "If I were ten years younger, I'd climb your boyfriend like a tree darling." 

Brock made a show of being shocked, "Gram-Gram! Only ten years younger?" He mouthed the word, "Run!" at Jack, who sat down at the table. The reception was winding down. People had vanished to go cheerfully vandalize the newlywed's car. 

"Water aerobics. Keeps me limber. I guess I can't ask you for great-grandkids, can I?" 

Brock blinked. "Never really thought I'd live long enough to think about it." He shrugged, "Can't even keep fish alive." 

She laughed, "Babies are overrated. I prefer puppies." She crooned at Jack, "Dance with me, hot stuff. Give me something to think about later." Brock covered his face in amused embarrassment.  

"Of course." Jack stood and with a half-bow, offered her his hand. "Ready?" 

"Brock  _always_ gets the good ones." She said as they swayed, her eyes closed in pleasure. She clung to his chest and rubbed her face on his shirt. 

"I'm not as good as you think, ma'am." 

"You'd be good for the night." She said with a smile, "And really, sometimes, that's all that matters." The music stopped and she asked, "Please, take care of Brock. He's such a pain in the ass sometimes, he gets that from his father. I hope that I did right by him over the years, but you can't rewind time, can you? Everyone makes their own choices." She patted his arm, "I'm glad he chose you. Can you walk me to my room? I feel like having a nap." Gram-Gram yawned. "For eight to ten hours." She had spunk, but the evening and the vodka had obviously exhausted her. 

Jack escorted her to her motel room and helped her with her key.  "Now behave yourself, young lady." 

She reached around his hips and cupped his asscheeks, squeezed with both hands and made a happy squeak. "Never."

 

* * *

Brock was looking in the mirror, a long red scratch down his temple and cheek. "I take it you didn't get the bouquet?" Jack shut the door behind him. 

Brock shook his head, "I should have known better. Women fight dirty, my relatives fight even  _dirtier._ Anyway, Ilona is going to need all the help she can get in the matrimonial department. _Bitch_." 

"I got Gram-Gram to her room without her trying to play tonsil hockey with me."

"Did she grab your ass?" Brock took off his shoes and put them next to the bed. A pink flush colored his cheeks and he sat down on the motel bed with a bounce. 

"Palmed it like a basketball." Jack chuckled. "Both hands."

"That's how you know she likes you. She raised my sister and I, you know, after the accident. Learned everything I know about managing men from her. I had drill sergeants less hardcore than Gram-Gram." Brock smiled fondly. "I don't really miss this chaos, but family is good in small doses." He held up his pinched fingers and squinted at the distance between the tips. "Very small doses." 

"Aren't you tired?" Jack examined a mystery stain on his suit jacket.

" _Exhilarated_. I-- I didn't even have to punch anyone in the teeth." Brock stared up at him. "It's all because of you." 

"Damn right. You prissy little princess. You make the rules, not your family." Jack fingered another stain. "You're paying for the dry-cleaning. I think your niece used me as a napkin." Brock sank to one knee on the carpet. "Unless you're gonna blow me, I'd think twice about touching that carpet. Yup, another tiny greasy handprint." 

"Jack. Jack Douglas Rollins." Brock intoned solemnly. "Will you do me the honor of marrying me?" 

Jack dropped his jacket on the floor in surprise. "Are you fucking with me? It's not funny Brock." 

Brock shook his head, "I'm not fucking with you. I'm dead serious. You're seriously the best. Like the  _best._  I love you. And I want you to marry me." Jack crossed his arms and Brock continued, still kneeling on the filthy carpet. "We work so well together. I mean, we _fit_ together. You make me a better person, Jack. I wake up in the morning and if you're not beside me, I feel lost. I want _you_. Tell me one good reason why you shouldn't." 

Jack couldn't hold it back any longer, he spat out, "You had me _mindwiped!_ " Brock jerked back as if he'd been slapped. "It didn't stick. I remember everything. _Everything_." Brock had the good grace to look away for a moment, then he stood up and sat down on the bed. He ran his hand through his hair. Jack's hands curled into fists. 

"Shit." He quietly swore. "I knew it wouldn't hold. You're too smart. Too stubborn. That wasn't my choice. They were going to _decommission_ you, Jack. And they don't believe in early retirement." Jack stared down at him, still silent. Still thinking about choking the life from Brock's throat.

"I know, there's no way to make that up to you. I _know_. It's such a fucking violation. The first time I sat in that chair--" He shook his head. "This isn't about me. Jack, I haven't gotten to where I am by questioning orders, but I begged for you. I got on my knees and I begged. That's no metaphor. I must have used a quart of Listerine to wash the taste from my mouth." He rubbed his face. "And when I saw how-- how _happy_ you were afterwards, I thought, why risk telling you?"

"Because it would have been the _right_ fucking thing to do. That's why. That's why!" Jack bellowed. "I thought I was going insane, Brock. I thought I was going fucking nuts! You weren't home. You left me alone. Probably to go torture Barnes again. Yeah, I remember _that_ too." Jack expected to feel rage but sudden overwhelming sadness nearly knocked him to his knees. 

"No." Brock's eyes flashed with steely intent. "Pierce took control of that project. Something about a very important mission that he couldn't risk getting fucked up. I never touched him after you told me not to. He thinks you're reassigned somewhere else. He--," Brock punched his fist into the floral bedspread. "Fuck it. He missed you something awful and he cried and got gum in his hair and it was a huge clusterfuck. So they wiped him. Clean slate protocol." 

"You were jealous." Jack said flatly. 

"Oh that's rich coming from _you_." Brock licked his lips, "That's the one thing I didn't miss by the way. Your fucking possessiveness. And when I offer you-- when I offer you everything-- when I offer you all of me..." His face scrunched up with suppressed tears. "It's going to happen Jack. They put _me_ in the chair and burned those instructions into my brain. I'm--" Brock's brittle control fractured and tears streamed down his face.

"I'm fucking  _scared_ Jack. What if this all goes tits up? What if--?" He wiped his eyes on his shirt sleeve and Jack fought back the urge to hold him tight to his chest. "If you're married to me, then you can't be forced to testify. If I die, then you get my survivor benefits. I don't want all I've done to be for nothing. Sounds so fucking romantic like that."   

"So it was all for my own good then?" Jack sat down on the bed beside Brock. 

"Yeah, I guess. That's a fucked up way of saying it. I didn't make you love me. You did that stupid shit all on your own. You can't blame anyone else for that mistake." Brock whispered with a hitch in his throat, "I just couldn't lose you. You're the only one I can trust. You've got my back."

" _Always_." It was eerie how much better Jack felt. A huge weight was lifted from his shoulders and he felt calm, centered for the first time in months. Jack gathered Brock into his arms and held him. "You're still an asshole. But you're mine. And I haven't forgiven you. Not a bit."

"I can live with that. I don't have a ring. But this is better." Brock reached back behind his neck and pulled off his tags. He never took them off, too superstitious. He unthreaded a small key from the chain. He held it up. "If you don't believe a word I say, believe _this. This_ is how much I trust you." He put the key in Jack's hand. "Remember Mogadishu? How we somehow lost five million dollars in unmarked bearer bonds? Remember that bank that turned me down for a car loan?" 

Jack nodded mutely. He'd wondered what had happened to all that missing money. They'd blamed a local warlord and aimed a drone missile right into his compound as retaliation. Brock had taken it. That sneaky son of a bitch. 

"I've got a big security box there. The money. Cash too. Some uncut diamonds. There's passports. Faked documents. A title to a cabin out in Montana. A whole list of my bug out bags and the other deposit boxes where I stashed incriminating documents and weapons. I have ten whole canisters of that experimental sex pollen gas and two syringes of the last batch of super soldier serum. The shit that _doesn't_ make you go insane. I might be loyal, but I'm not stupid. I've worked hard for the organization and my reward isn't going to be a thank you card and a bullet in the back of my brain." 

Jack folded the key back into Brock's fingers. Brock looked confused and Jack said, "Keep your key. That shit never mattered to me."

Brock's face crumpled in devastation, then he brightened for a moment. He carefully and slowly signed the phrase, _I love you_.

Jack signed it back. God help him, he signed it back.  

 

 

 

  

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am so nervous about this chapter.


	28. Chapter 28

  

Jack looked out the quinjet exit ramp with his mouth hanging open in shock. "Was he wearing a parachute?"

Brock shook his head and smiled. "No. No, he wasn't."

"What an asshole." Jack muttered and rolled his eyes. They executed the drop flawlessly, plummeting in the dark towards the _Lemurian_ _Star_. Brock was aiming at the back of Steve's head at first, but took out the goon behind Steve instead.

"Thanks." Steve said in recognition of Brock's skills.

"Yeah. You seemed pretty helpless without me." Brock smirked, unable to stop flirting even in the middle of a mission. Steve loped off to pick off more pirates. Jack glared at Brock, who shrugged as he detached his parachute, "What? Move out." 

* * *

Brock insisted on doing all the yard work. He didn't want to hire any strangers to come to the house and violate his privacy. _Privacy_. Now that was a laughable concept.The idea of spending money on physical labor that he could do was repellent. It was a free show, Jack thought. Too bad the backyard looked like a patchwork quilt of dead grass and mud.

There it was again, a flash of red. Right out of the corner of his sightline as he lounged shirtless in the backyard hammock. Jack lazily stretched and through slitted eyes he watched Brock crouch down to pull on a stubborn weed. A wink of red satin showed above Brock's waistband. God bless low rise jeans, Jack thought.

He opened his mouth to remark on Brock's interesting choice of lingerie, then shut it. A smile curled over his lips and he closed his eyes. "You missed some over by the rocks." Jack waited until he heard Brock kneel down to open his eyes. The sun caressed Brock's sweat-dappled skin, stroked the curves of his back. The sliver of red lace and satin gleamed above the denim. Jack licked his lips and felt a rush of blood to his groin. "So, did you steal those from your sister?"

Brock shot him a dirty look and rubbed his filthy hands on his jeans. "Took you long enough." He stood up, his hair wet with sweat and a streak of loam on his cheekbone. "Damn thing is riding up my ass so far it's going to end up in my mouth." He thrust out a hip and hooked his thumb in a belt loop, posing and preening.

Jack shrugged. "You wear the weirdest things for yard work." Brock's lips compressed into a thin, tight line. It was beautiful. "Don't forget the border on the flower bed." Jack closed his eyes and waited, his fingers folded on his chest. He was expecting Brock to try to tip him out of the hammock. He was not expecting the full force of the garden hose sprayed in his face.

"Whathffff!" Jack sputtered and fell out of the hammock, landing in the grass on his belly with a thud.

"Take that fuckhead!" Brock cackled and aimed the nozzle just like his favorite gun. "Don't forget the border, my ass!" Jack's pants were completely soaked. He pulled his knees under him, waiting, tense as a coiled spring. Brock took one step too close to Jack and he lunged catching Brock around the knees. They fell in a tangled pile of flailing limbs and garden hose. Jack wrenched Brock's arm up behind his back and Brock hissed out nonsense syllables of frustration and rage. Jack scooped up a handful of wet mud and rubbed it in Brock's hair, crowing with triumph. He wiped his muddy hand down Brock's toned back and scraped his nails into the smear. Brock bucked up into his touch and groaned.

 _Interesting_ , Jack thought and slapped another handful of mud under Brock's jaw. He smeared it up into Brock's stubble and over his lips.

"You bastard!" Brock spat out gritty spit.

"You're the idiot who got out the hose. Now you better get my hand clean or you're getting my dick shoved up your ass dry and tight." Jack wiggled his fingers in front of Brock's lips.

"Fuck you." Brock squirmed, not really trying to get away. If he'd wanted to he could have had Jack in the dirt begging for mercy, so Jack pressed on. It would be so much easier if Brock would just tell him what he wanted instead of pretending like Jack was a fucking clairvoyant. The Asset wouldn't have been such a drama queen. Jack set his jaw. He'd still be able to see Barnes if Brock hadn't-- don't think about it. _Push it to the back of your mind_. _Think about it later._

"I've got no problem doing you raw, princess." Jack slapped Brock's side and ran his dirty hand over the red lace waistband. "Did you buy these just for me?" His voice was harsh in his ears. It had been a funny joke at the wedding, but the slick satin felt sinfully good under his fingertips.

"No, I went to Costco and they were selling them in bulk so I thought I'd get one for every member of the team!" Jack leaned on Brock's arm and he winced with a sharp inhalation, "Of course, I bought them for you, you jackass."

"I thought you might have bought them for Rogers. You were sure humping his leg on the mission." Jack threaded his fingers under the jeans, satiny fabric clung to Brock's skin. He felt his face flush and his breath grow ragged. Then his fingertips danced over something firm between Brock's asscheeks. A plug.

"You filthy boy," Jack hissed and pressed on the plug base, "Keeping yourself all open and wet for me like a good little slut?" Brock nodded. "Sweet little slut. How many dicks have been up this sloppy ass?" It was a rhetorical question, simple dirty talk, but Brock fell curiously silent and flushed red under the filth.

"I should take a picture of you like this so I can jerk off to it when we're apart. You're beautiful, fucking filthy." Jack touched the tightly stretched rim of Brock's asshole and wormed the tip of his pinky underneath it. Brock moaned incoherently at the stretch, "Tell me, tell me what you want!" Jack commanded.

Brock buried his face in the grass, bits of lawn trimmings stuck to his skin like green confetti. He mumbled something and Jack twirled the plug slowly. "I-- I want you to fuck me! In the panties. I wanna come in the panties." Jack let go of his arm. He yanked the jeans off Brock's hips in one smooth motion, they'd been hanging off of his hips by a prayer all afternoon.

"Damn right I'm gonna fuck you." Jack hoisted Brock's hips up, his ass cheeks covered in silky red satin and one of his ankles ensnared by denim. He pulled out the plug with a squelch and tossed it on the lawn. "Not as big as mine," he purred as he knelt down. Palming each pert butt cheek, Jack licked Brock through the satin. He was so wet from lube, this was purely for Jack's own oral fixation. "Pretty tasty for a filthy whore." The spandex threads flexed and expanded under his lips and tongue. He wrapped his arms around Brock's thighs and ran his teeth over the sensitive skin of Brock's greedy hole.

Brock groaned loud enough for the neighbors to hear and Jack grinned. "That's what I like to hear." He unbuttoned his fly and pulled out his cock then he rubbed himself on the satin. Leaking precum painted a trail on whatever fabric wasn't sopping wet from his tongue. "Beautiful ass. How'd you get to be so pretty?"

He pulled down the panties so they nestled under Brock's asscheeks, the puckered flesh winked at the rush of Jack's hot breath. Jack couldn't help himself, he lapped at it hungrily. Brock whined, Jack slapped his hand away from his cock. "You were bad with the hose and bad boys get off last."

There was something primal and deeply satisfying about the way Jack's cock sank deep inside, rutting in the muddy lawn. Two beasts slapping and slamming into each other, grunts and groans echoed against the fence.  _I'm going to get another letter from the homeowner's association_ , Jack thought in the back of his mind.

Brock sunk his fingers into the lawn and thrust backwards against Jack howling, "Yes--- yes--- fuck me-- hrgh! Right there!" Jack grasped Brock's cock through the satin panties and Brock writhed in pleasure, green and brown smears on his cheek. "Oh god-- I need it! I need you!"

Jack put his mud-smeared hand over Brock's mouth to quiet him, but Brock opened his lips and sucked on Jack's fingers. He was so far gone, rutting into Jack's fist through the satin. When Brock was reduced to grunts and muffled moans, Jack closed his eyes and thought about Barnes. Barnes in the hammock, slowly swaying in the breeze. Safe and waiting for Jack to call him to dinner. It wasn't an erotic thought, but the image of peaceful pleasure ran through Jack's groin like an electric shock. He came hard, spasmed into Brock with punishing, bruising force. That pushed Brock over the edge and he shuddered.

Jack started laughing. He slipped out of Brock's hole and collapsed on the lawn. "You creamed your panties." 

Brock gave him a half-hearted swipe and curled up on Jack's chest. They stayed like that, watching the clouds through the sun-dappled leaves. Brock said after a huge sigh, "Seventeen. Counting you." 

"What?" Jack murmured sleepily. 

"That's the number of dicks that have been up my ass." Brock sat up and stretched, "It was all at once and I lost track after a while, but I'm pretty sure I counted at least sixteen different dicks." He winced at the bruises on his hips. "Those are gonna hurt like a motherfucker for a while." Jack looked at him in bewilderment. "What? You asked. I figure we're being honest with each other now. Right?" 

Jack took his hand and Brock rolled his eyes, "It was just hazing. Showing the new kid who was in charge. They must have smelled the fag on me. But you don't have to get all mushy about it." He dropped Jack's fingers and made a face at the sticky mess on his crotch, he peeled back the elastic and grimaced. "It was years ago. I had a list. An extensive list of names, home addresses, preschools..." Brock peered over his mud-smeared shoulder with a smirk, "And funny how people die in this line of work. One at a time. Random accidents and mission failures. You'd never connect the dots to see the full picture. Many, many years." He winked and clicked his tongue. "Bang bang. Eventually, I was the youngest commander in STRIKE history through sheer attrition. So I guess the moral of the story is that you can fuck me, but you really can't _fuck_ me, if you get my drift." 

"You're a scary man, Brock Rumlow." Jack said appreciatively, his eyes wide. "Glad you like me." 

Brock shrugged as he stripped out of his panties. "You have your moments. I'm very patient and I know what I like." He stuck out his tongue. "Join me in the shower? Or I could get the pressure washer out of the garage...?"

Jack stood up and smacked Brock on his ass. "You're just hoping for an encore, babe." Jack felt just awful enough about exactly _what_ had made him orgasm to indulge Brock in anything he wanted. It was the least he could do. He loved him.

Even if he was the seventeenth dick inside that ass.  _Jesus._

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's going to take more than a loofah to scrub all that filth off.  
> Thank you for your comments.


	29. Chapter 29

Jack blinked his eyes, he felt shaken and limp as a ragdoll. Every inch of him hurt. The ceiling of the elevator was caved in. _Weird_. How the hell would that happen?

Wait, what happened to the glass wall? Rogers must have jumped? _Jesus Christ._ Maybe he died on impact, wouldn't that be perfect and wonderful? But the universe didn't work in Jack's favor that often, so the bastard probably made it. Gotta launch _Insight_ , _Insight_ would take care of all their problems.

He sat up slowly with a groan and saw Brock on the very top of the pile of fallen Strike agents. _The Last Man Standing,_ once again. He reached over and slapped Brock's cheek. Brock lifted his blearily lifted his head. "So, did you get him?" Petty, but Jack had known this mission was doomed to failure. Rogers could deadlift a car, punching him was like beating up a wall. And the wall was less likely to look at you with judgmental disappointment.

 _Fuck you, Rogers. This isn't your world anymore._  

Brock spat out a mouthful of bloody spit, it landed on Vasquez's pants. Slowly Brock pushed himself up and they leaned against on of the intact wall. The wind from the Potomac whipped in and stank of decay. "I told him that this wasn't personal." Brock spat again. "Use your Radio for medical, we've got casualties in here. Mine is crushed."

"Just like Rogers' heart." Jack sneered and they gave each other a high five, wincing at the impact. Brock laughed and held his ribs tightly. When he finished shaking from humor and pain, he rested his forehead against Jack's and they waited for med evac.

* * *

 

Jack pleaded, "All I'm asking is for ten minutes in the back, alone. That's it. I'll never bring it up again." Brock's fingers tightened on the steering wheel and he stared straight ahead at the gravel road. The Asset was in the back of the transport after his battle with Rogers and his friends. The prisoner transport was behind them. Having Barnes so close and not being able to speak to him was torture for Jack. 

"I have to say goodbye." He said quietly, his fingers twisted around each other and he bit his lip. "Fuck. Brock, have a heart." He reached out and touched Brock's shoulder. Brock shrugged off his hand. 

A few more moments of silence, then Brock stopped the truck and radioed to the rest of the convoy. "I do. And the only reason I'm saying yes is because I love you." He peered out the window. "We're getting married next week. And I should be _enough_ for you."

"Thanks." Jack squeezed his thigh and opened the passenger door.

Brock seized his arm, stopped him from leaving. "Don't do anything stupid. Don't make me regret this." Jack leaned in for a kiss. Brock pushed him away and said, "End this. You can't save everybody, Jack. You just can't. I've tried." Jack shut the door behind him and pulled up the cargo door. He climbed into the truck and shut the door behind him. 

The Asset leaned his head against the cold metal of the cargo hold, his face a mass of quickly healing bruises and abrasions. Rogers had beaten the _shit_ out of him. Jack pushed down the urge to go back to the second truck and put a bullet in the middle of Steve's forehead for that transgression. He should have done that at the bridge, news crew or not. 

"Hi there." He spoke softly, remembering how easily those fingers could snuff out life even when restrained. "Do-- do you remember me?" He tentatively combed back Barnes' long tangled hair from his face. His eyes stared right through Jack without a hint of recognition. "I'm Jack."

The weary placidity on Barnes' face stabbed into Jack's heart. _Wiped_. He'd never hated anyone as much as he hated the people who had hurt _his_ Asset. Oh fuck. _He was one of those people. He was no better than them._ Jack fell to his knees on the corrugated metal floor.

He begged, tears welled up and spilled down his cheeks, " _Remember me_? We played poker and blew bubbles and kissed--" His voice choked up and he pressed the Asset's shackled hands to his tear-streaked face. He kissed the fingers and the Asset's eyes slowly focused on him. Jack sobbed, "Please remember me! I-- I love you so much it hurts. Please, please, please!" 

"The man on the bridge."  _No. NO. NO! Not Rogers. Don't remember him before you remember me! I'm the one you love. I'm your Jack! I'd burn the world down for you... Not even Brock would be able to stop him._ He knew that with cold certainty. He loved Brock, but he  _needed_  to possess Barnes. Brock would be fine without him. He was a survivor. Barnes needed Jack's protection. 

"Your target. We captured him. He's in the other truck. You completed your mission objective." Jack patted Barnes' knee and cooed, "You're so good and brave and strong. Please, please try to remember me. I'm _your_ Jack. They aren't going to take you away from me, not this time." 

"--But I knew him?" The hope and quavering uncertainty in Barnes' voice made Jack see red, rage bubbled up behind his eyes. Steve caused this pain to his love. He had to go. 

"No, no you didn't." Jack rubbed his thumb along Barnes' palm in soothing circles. "You're trying to remember  _me_. I'm the one who loves you! I'm going to keep you safe, not him. He's a dead man. You belong with me. You need me. And I need you." He was babbling, Barnes' eyebrows knit in concerned confusion at the mad words spilling from his lips. "I have a plan to save you. You have no idea what I'm giving up to be with you, but I can't live without you." He was going to give up everything. "But you have to  _fight!_ You have to remember me! That's an order, soldier!" 

"Ten minutes!" Brock pounded on the door. 

"I know! I know!" Jack hollered back. He gathered Barnes into his arms, held him tightly against his chest, inhaled the scent of his hair. Smoke and sweat. He kissed the side of Barnes' head and murmured softly so that Brock couldn't hear him. "I miss you so much. And I'm going to _save_ you." He dug in his pocket and pulled out a cube of bubble gum, Jack pressed it into the Asset's fingers and folded them around the cube. 

Brock opened the door and Jack climbed out, his face a tear-stained forlorn mess. Brock, to his credit, didn't say a word. He shut the door and locked it. Then he guided Jack back to the truck with a firm hand on the small of his back. He radioed, "Move out!" The convoy continued on to the disposal site. Jack's fingers dug into his thighs, bruising the flesh.  

"I want to do it." Jack gritted out. "I want to kill Rogers." He wiped his face on his sleeve.

Brock smiled indulgently, "I know. I know." He chuckled, "Best wedding present ever, right?" 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I kinda feel sorry for Brock... WHAT'S WRONG WITH ME?


	30. Chapter 30

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter follows very closely the events of the film.

"Brock." Jack said as they approached the Triskelion. Brock hadn't said a word since Rogers and his crew had escaped. Eerie uneasy silence. Now they had to explain to Pierce what had happened. Well, _Brock_ had to. That was one of the hazards of being in charge. 

"Yeah?" Brock growled. Nothing had gone right. First, he'd missed spotting Rogers and Romanov by a matter of inches in the mall. Then, the missile had failed. The cherry on the shit sundae was losing their bound, wounded and helpless captives during a pitstop to appease his needy boyfriend. The universe hated Brock Rumlow. 

"I've got a bad--" Jack rubbed his face, sweat prickling on the back of his neck. 

"Shut up with that shit, Jack." Brock snapped. "We're gonna be fine. Just have to explain things. We've been in worse scrapes." 

Jack shrugged, "Yeah. You were MIA and I was split open like a gut piñata. Still doesn't make me feel any better about going in there." He pointed at the Triskelion looming above them. "So I'll take that key now. If you're still offering." Jack held his breath. So much rested on this one simple exchange. He needed the money, he needed Brock's collection of paranoia and self-preservation. Brock had other caches. _He'd be fine_. If Jack kept saying that, eventually it would be true.

Brock reached inside his shirt and looped his tags over his head. He handed over the key to five million dollars in untraceable funds to Jack without blinking."Keep it safe." They passed into the Triskelion parking garage. 

Jack removed the key and handed Brock back his tags. "I promise." He swallowed, sudden guilt cramping in his gut. "You-- you won't regret this." 

"Like I said," Brock parked the truck. "You're the one good thing in my fucked up life Jack." He slapped Jack's shoulder. "Now watch me explain exactly how FUBAR this situation is to the Secretary of Defense of the United States of America." He rolled his eyes, "Fuck my life. _Really_. Just fuck it." He exited the truck and Jack waited for a few heartbeats before secreting away the key upon his own tags. Everything would be fine. He'd save Barnes.

And maybe, maybe one day Brock would _forgive_ him.

* * *

Jack stood behind the mind wipe chair in the bank vault and stared at it, wide-eyed.  It was a grotesque piece of furniture, all buckles and straps. It had more in common with an electric chair than the sleek, white vinyl chair in the Psych department.  Everything was more brutal behind the scenes.

He glanced at the rest of the STRIKE team. How many of them had sat in the memory wipe chair? None of them looked remotely disturbed by it and the techs in their white button-down shirts buzzed around it like drone bees.   


They walked in the Asset and Jack dug his fingernails into his palm, stifling his urge to cry out. _How dare they touch him._ The techs sat Barnes down in the chair and checked his vitals, crisply and efficiently. There was not a trace of compassion or comfort in their gloved fingers. Barnes didn't look around, he stared numbly at the floor. 

Alexander Pierce walked in, closely shadowed by Brock. _Oh thank god,_  Jack thought gratefully. Brock caught his eye and winked. The corner of Jack's mouth curled in a smile. Pierce sat down and snapped his fingers. 

"He's unstable." The tech reported. "Erratic."

"Mission report. Mission report now." Pierce ordered and then slapped Barnes' face with a whip-crack snap. Jack jerked and tried to cover up his flinch. He watched Brock, irritation twisted his features. 

"The man on the bridge." Barnes asked, the weariness in his voice made Jack's heart ache. "Who was he?"  _Stop thinking about Rogers, I'm right here._ _  
_

"You met him earlier this week on another assignment." Pierce was losing patience with his tool. That's all the Asset was. A tool. A weapon. And with INSIGHT coming online, he was a  _disposable_ tool. 

"I knew him." One soft statement. Not a question. 

"Your work has been a gift to mankind. You shaped the century. And I need you to do it one more time. Society's at a tipping point between order and chaos. And tomorrow morning, we're gonna give it a push. But, if you don't do your part, I can't do mine. And HYDRA can't give the world the freedom it deserves." Pierce spoke with concern dripping from his lips as easily as lies did and Jack's stomach clenched. _  
_

"But I knew him." Brock's eyebrow lifted at the continued insubordination. Nothing was going right.  

"Prep him." Pierce ordered, his patience at an end.

"He's been out of cryofreeze too long." The tech protested. 

"Then wipe him and start over." Barnes accepted a mouth guard with sickening acceptance. Pierce exited the vault with Brock in tow. Brock looked back into the vault, not at the man in the chair who was howling in pain as his mind was scrambled into submission, but at Jack. At his face twisted in grief-stricken guilt behind the scope of his rifle. Brock turned away, confident that the world was about to change for the better. 

* * *

 

The moment Jack heard Steve Rogers' sanctimonious speech he thought that the whole operation was probably going to go tits up. When the Congresswoman knocked him to the fucking floor his suspicions were confirmed. 

He woke up to the sound of gunshots knocking Pierce to the floor. Fury,  _wait-- wasn't he dead? What the fuck?_ , and the Congresswoman-- _wait-- Romanov? What the fuck?_  left in a hurry out the side exit towards a waiting helicopter. He shook his woozy head, probably had a fucking concussion.  _Fuck this shit_ , Jack thought and he scrambled for Pierce's private elevator. He bashed on the button for the sub-basement parking garage and watched the numbers flicker. 

The building  _lurched._  Jack prayed to whatever god would listen to a bastard like him. And the elevator slammed to the bottom of the shaft. 

Only two floors. Only a drop of two floors. Jack lay on the floor of the elevator gasping, then he pulled with all his might, pried apart the doors. He ran over to his car, moving on pure adrenaline and instinct. With a squeal of tires, he sped out of the parking garage.  _Thank you, God of Bastards._  

Traffic stopped him about a mile from the Triskelion.

He looked in the rearview mirror. He watched Project Insight fall out of the sky into the Potomac. Watched a carrier slam into the Triskelion. Watched the towering structure burn. 

Someone was screaming. Screaming as if every bone in their body just shattered.

Or, perhaps, just their _heart_. 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Not the end. Promise.


	31. Chapter 31

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trigger Warning for suicide attempt

Jack called everyone on his contact list who might have an idea about Brock's whereabouts or status. Romanov had knocked his earpiece out when she flattened him. There was hope. There was always hope. He'd thought Brock was dead before and he'd been wrong, so blissfully wrong. The phone lines were jammed with calls. He managed to get one text through to Anders. WHERE IS BROCK? 

SORRY. HE WAS GOING UP TO PIERCE. THERE'S NOTHING LEFT ABOVE THE 30TH FLOOR. GOING DARK. DONT CONTACT AGAIN. SORRY. 

It was one thing to contemplate, to plan a betrayal. He'd a member of HYDRA long enough that things like that didn't bother him as much as they should, but his hands were _shaking_ now. Jack threw his phone on the car seat and leaned his head against the door.

Brock was going up the stairs as he was going down the private elevator. Brock was coming for him. And he'd left Brock to die.

Brock wasn't supposed to  _die._ Oh god, who was going to tell Gran-Gran and Caroline? 

What-- what was he supposed to do now? 

* * *

 

The cashier at the bank stared at Jack. His face was battered and bruised from Romanov's blows. He was still wearing his STRIKE uniform and all the tactical gear that he could get away with in a bank. His eyes were swollen from crying and his carefully slicked back hair dangled limply in his face.

"Sir?" The cashier asked in a whisper. "Are you alright?" The rest of his coworkers were staring at a computer, watching the Triskelion burn.

A funeral pyre. 

He put the key to the safe deposit box on the counter and slid it forward. "I--would like to make a withdrawal, please." 

* * *

Home. He was home. No one would come looking for him right away even if his name was on a list of suspected terrorists. They didn't even know if he was alive or not. Probably not for weeks. He didn't feel alive.

Numb. That was the word. Jack looked up as a car passed, hoped that it would pull into the driveway and Brock would stumble out with a shit-eating grin and the Asset in the backseat...  _  
_

He stumbled into the foyer, kicked off his boots. Put his keys in the ashtray that Brock had stolen from the SHIELD commissary, cigarette burns seared into the logo. _"It's poetic."_ Brock had smiled and laughed as he pulled his prize from his jacket pocket. 

He took two steps towards their-- towards  _his_ bedroom and then he pivoted on his heel. The bedroom was off-limits. He couldn't bear the sight of their wedding suits pristine in clear plastic bags. Brock had sneered at the idea of wearing a tuxedo again. _"Gran-Gran always said that you just needed one good suit to get married and get buried in."_

Was there even a body to bury? Did he burn into a greasy smear of ashes or get crushed into paste under the weight of the Triskelion? Jack was used to death, it was his job to be a state-sanctioned executioner, but thinking about all the horrible ways that Brock could have died made him stumble to the couch in a fog of despair. 

Brock had left a glass on the coffee table without a coaster. There was a ring of condensation staining the wood, marked with a tattoo of Brock's casual neglect. Jack ran his fingertip over the stain and threw the thick glass tumbler against the far wall. It fell with a thud onto the floor, not giving Jack the satisfaction of shattering.

He limped over to the kitchen, pulled out a bottle of whiskey. _"Saving this for the honeymoon, sweet cheeks. How do you feel about Mexico?_ " He washed down a few hydrocodone left over from his surgeries with a swig of whiskey, even the burn down his throat was muted and softened.  

He unclipped his holster and set his gun on the coffee table. Then he curled up on the couch. The throw pillows still smelled like Brock's hair mousse.  _"You let anyone know that I use something French on my hair and I'll end you."_  

 _Huh_. His eyes weren't done crying yet. _Huh_. 

Jack didn't lock the door before he passed out from delirious exhaustion. Maybe Brock just lost his keys. Maybe he was just taking a really long time getting home. Traffic was terrible this time of day...

* * *

Did he eat? Jack groggily blinked at the empty cereal bowl on his counter. He couldn't remember. His head ached from the the mixture of concussion, booze and opiates. He washed down a few more pills with more whiskey.

He turned on the television out of habit. CAPTAIN AMERICA RESCUED FROM POTOMAC scrolled across the bottom of the screen on every channel. Jack turned off the television and stared at the floor. Of course, Rogers survived that. The Triskelion probably landed on his thick head. He wanted to hate Steve. Wanted to hate him with bile black rage. It would have been so much easier than hating himself.

Jack picked up the duffel bag beside the couch and opened it. He hadn't taken the time to inventory the contents of the box, he'd simply dumped it inside his gym bag and rushed out of the bank to avoid the pitiful sympathy of the tellers. He didn't deserve sympathy. Or forgiveness.

The bearer bonds, still wrapped tightly in plastic stamped with foreign seals. Five million dollars didn't weigh as much as he had thought. Thick stacks of cash too, mostly fifties and hundreds. A black plastic envelope with the HYDRA seal embossed on the flap. Jack thumbed through the documents, they were mostly black site locations, safehouses and maps of secret bases. He tossed it to the side. He'd had enough of HYDRA. The whole organization could burn. 

There was another thick lumpy envelope, stacks of photos fell out upon his lap. Old family photos. Baby pictures of Brock and his sister with Gran-Gran. Baby Brock cuddling a huge orange cat. Jack stared at Brock's senior high school portrait. Brock as a twink in a baby blue polo with a popped collar. Jack stood up and grabbed the bottle of booze before looking at the rest of the photos. 

Pictures of the STRIKE team flashing the peace sign. The afternoon barbecues. Cheryl and her kids in their soccer uniforms. The wedding. Brock looked so at ease, so peaceful as he danced with Jack. God, when were his eyes going to dry out?

And photos of him, more photos of him than anyone else. Jack hadn't ever noticed Brock taking pictures of him. But there they were. Jack asleep. Jack cooking. Jack in the hammock. Jack in the shower. Every mundane activity of their day meticulously documented by Brock on his camera phone. _Why_? Why were these so important to Brock to hide away with his stolen loot? Jack pushed the pictures into the envelope and set it aside. It was such a simple answer, but it made his heart ache to contemplate it. 

He stood up and wandered outside to the backyard. Smoke turned the moon a deep blood red. Jack sat on the hammock, swayed. Then he stood, took out his pocket-knife and sliced the hammock from it's moorings. He piled it on the grill. Jack stared at it contemplatively and then fetched their wedding suits. He added those to the grill and hosed the whole mess down with lighter fluid and tossed a match at it. Flames spewed upwards and Jack drank as the fire blazed. 

He went back inside when the fire died down to ashes and embers. At the bottom of the bag there was a small black velvet hinged box. 

 _Oh shit._ Jack's mouth went dry. Brock had wanted the rings to be a surprise. Well, he fucking got his wish, didn't he?

Jack knocked back another slug of whiskey before opening the box. Two simple gold bands. One had  _Princess_  engraved inside the band and inside the other...  _Big Guy_. Jack took off his tags and threaded the bands upon the chain.

Then he picked up his gun. Set it down. Picked it up again. 

Jack opened his mouth and set the muzzle upon his tongue. Jack couldn't taste it. He pressed the tip of the muzzle hard against the roof of his mouth, closed his eyes and pulled the trigger. There was a metal finger jammed inside the trigger guard. Jack opened his eyes and looked up at the Asset staring down at him. Barnes said one single word to him before knocking the gun away.

" _Nyet_."  


	32. Chapter 32

Jack sat back, pinned to the couch by Barnes straddling his lap. His head swam from the booze and pills. He stared up into blue eyes that pinned him in place just as effectively. Barnes smelled terrible, his hair was greasy and lank. There were deep shadows underneath his eyes and stubble all over his chin. But he was still so _beautiful_. "How?" Jack asked, still not convinced that he wasn't hallucinating. 

"I swam." Barnes tilted his head and wrinkled his nose, "You smell awful." He grabbed a handful of Jack's t-shirt and hauled Jack up from the couch. He dragged a stumbling Jack into the bathroom and pointed at the shower. He crossed his arms. Barnes was still wearing his tactical gear under a stolen grey jacket. 

" _Deja_ fucking _vu_." Jack muttered as he stripped off his clothes. 

"Yeah, but I'm not joining you this time." A thick Brooklyn accent coated Barnes' voice, so different from the near mechanical clipped speech of the Asset. "Sorry about that. But I've made some recent life changes." He looked at his fingers and bit off a hangnail. 

"So you remember that." The hazing in the shower. Jack turned on the shower and stepped in, feeling a bit more sober and a lot more ashamed. He took the quickest shower of his life and grabbed the towel that Barnes threw at him. 

Barnes stared past him, his eyes unfocused and haunted. "I remember _a_ _lot_. Would like to forget most of it." Then he smiled, a flash of white teeth. "Remembered where you lived, Mr. Bubblegum." 

"Are you here to kill me?" Jack rubbed his hair dry. He had two people to mourn now. Brock and the Asset. They were both gone, never to return. Jack couldn't save either of them. At least, Barnes had saved himself. 

Barnes rolled his eyes and smirked, "Yeah, I'm making you shower before I shoot you. Not because you smell like something died in your shorts." He licked his lips, "I just slapped a gun out of your mouth. And I'm going to ask for your help. So, _no_. I'm not going to kill you. Figure you can do that by yourself, on your own terms if you really, really want to." Barnes shrugged, "Seems like a waste though." 

"You're _so_ different." He wasn't the same, not  _his_  Asset. The yearning in Jack's voice was palpable and pathetic. This man would never return his feelings. Barnes followed him to his bedroom. Jack pulled out a pair of sleep shorts and put them on. He looked out the window at the mess of ashes on the grill. Should have added his crush on the Asset to that pile.

"Not your good little robot soldier anymore?" Barnes leaned against the doorframe. "Helps when no one is mind-wiping you any old time you sneezed wrong. Or cramming dicks up your ass when you looked at someone sideways." 

"I know how it feels to be mind-wiped. You should kill me for just for that." Jack looked at his feet. "Even if I was ordered to, to fuck you, I should have said no." He gripped the bedspread with his fingers. "And I _enjoyed_ it."  

"Thanks for the lube, by the way. I was pretty used to my ass being community property. The way I remember it, you were the only guy that ever looked at me as a person. You even kept your hands to yourself, most of the time. You were pretty creepy about it, I gotta say, but I knew you had my back. After eighty years, someone finally had my back. And gave me bubblegum."  

"I couldn't do much about it." Jack wasn't going to cry, wasn't going to lose it in front of Barnes. He hadn't earned the right to wallow in self-pity in front of a man who had had his entire life stolen. "Felt pretty helpless. I was going to save you. Try to anyway." 

Barnes sat on the bed beside Jack, "Now, I get that. Right now, I know about thirty different and very _creative_ ways to kill you and that makes me so fucking sad." He flopped back on the mattress and sighed. "Bed feels good." 

Jack shrugged. "Killing people is my day job. I'm good at it. But right now, I'd do anything to bring just one person back." He clutched at the rings around his neck. "He was a complete fucking bastard. And I miss him so much." Fucking eyes, always leaking. He wiped his eyes with the back of his hand. 

Barnes spoke very softly, "I-- I pulled Stevie out of the river after beating the holy shit out of him. I shot him, I stabbed him and I was going to kill him. I'm not good enough for the people I love. I'm  _tainted_." So that's how Rogers survived. Saved by the man he loved. Lucky bastard. And Rogers knew that Barnes was out there, had the certainty of that knowledge to cling to. Lucky _fucking_ bastard.

"Why are you telling me this?" 

"Because I'm so _lonely_ and you're such a pretty dame." Barnes buzzed his lips. "Because I've been watching you torture yourself. Doesn't seem like a cold-blooded killer would fucking weep as much as you do. Took a look through your cache over there, when you were passed out. I ate your food by the way. Drank all the fucking _milk_." Barnes laughed and gestured with his metal arm in a wide circle. "Lots of maps in that cache. All of HYDRA's secret places."

Barnes folded his hands on his chest and looked over at Jack. "Didn't you use to be in Demolitions? I think we could raise a little hell blowing up some HYDRA bastards." He blinked his big blue eyes winsomely. "Some penance for what we've done over the years. Unless you're a true believer and you can just go back to swallowing a bullet." Barnes closed his eyes and waited. "Damn fine mattress. Damn fine."

Jack slowly nodded, "I only believed in Brock. What he told me and how I felt about him. I told myself that I was a hero. Every day. Until I believed it."

Jack smiled for the first time in what felt like ages, "Five million would buy a lot of plastic explosives. But I have a condition." Barnes cocked his head to the side. "You smell worse than I did. Shower or no deal." Jack held out his hand. "Deal?" 

Barnes spat in his palm, took Jack's hand and shook it. "Done. Got any of that fruity-smelling shower shit? I liked that." He didn't let go of Jack's hand. "I'm trusting you not to go back in there and finish what you started. Can I trust you Jack? Got my back?" 

The word slipped out from Jack's lips without a thought, " _Always_." And he meant it. 

 

 

  

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wasn't going to leave you hanging. Well, until the next chapter. The last one.


	33. Chapter 33

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please heed the tags. One of the big ones has changed.

They took turns activating the detonators at every site. It was Barnes' turn. He pressed the button with a gleeful grin and whooped, "Burn baby burn!" as the compound was reduced to rubble. "That was really beautiful Jack. You're a master of the art of destruction. Could have really used you in Austria with the Howlies..." Barnes paused, lost for a moment in a memory. More of them came back to him every day. He blinked and came back to himself, "Quality job for an old man." 

"Just because you don't look ninety, doesn't make  _me_ the old man." Jack protested. 

"Sure it does, pal. Sure it does." Barnes winked from behind his camouflage face paint. 

"You're definitely the brat then." Jack rolled his eyes and got in the car. 

This wasn't the life that Jack had planned for. He rested his arm on the doorframe as they cruised along the highway in a stolen car. In the rearview mirror Jack could see smoke still rising from the destroyed HYDRA base. He'd used a shitload of plastique in those charges. Barnes snuck them in like destructive wee Easter eggs and then ducked out like the ghostly assassin of legend.

They made a great team, Jack thought, not for the first time. He fondled the rings on his tags. 

Barnes cranked the seat all the way back. "No rest for the wicked." Jack quipped. 

Barnes held up a finger, "Ah, but we're heroes now. Heroes get to take naps. Shh!" He folded his hands on his chest and was snoring within moments. Jack envied his ability to nod off just about anywhere. Probably picked that up on the battlefield. It hadn't been so long ago for him.  

He'd sent a fair amount of cash to Gran-Gran with a note of apology for not keeping her grandson alive. She probably burnt it. He didn't need the money, they'd stolen even more from HYDRA in their forays over the last six months. They slipped in like a shiv between the ribs. Brock would have been proud of their planning and teamwork. Jack snorted, Brock would have been so  _jealous_. 

They'd even avoided the eyes and ears of what was leftover from SHIELD. Weird, he'd never thought Coulson was back from the dead. Jack shrugged. Nothing really surprised him now, even apparent resurrections. Of all the people in the world to bring back to life--

Jack stared off into the distance. No, this wasn't the life he had planned for, but it was good enough for now. It kept him from thinking about what might have been. Kept him from pining for the smell of cheap body spray and the feel of rough hands tracing his scars in the dark. Kept him from weeping. Barnes made fun of him when he cried. Probably because the kid was always on the verge of breaking into tears too when he did it.

He plucked a cube of bubble gum from the center console, unwrapped it and popped it in his mouth. He blew a bubble and snapped it. Barnes cracked open his eye in irritation and huffed a sigh. "Do you mind? You chew like a cow with her cud." 

"If you're lucky, I'll put it in your hair." Jack blew another bubble. "Want some music?" Barnes nodded and Jack flicked on the stereo. 

 _There's no escape_  
_I can't wait_  
_I need a hit_  
_Baby, give me it_  
_You're dangerous_  
_I'm loving it_

"Not _this_ song. I've got history with this song." Jack protested.

Barnes smiled and when Jack moved to change the song, he covered the mp3 player with his metal hand. "Nope. I like this song." And then he sang along as Jack blushed all the way to the tops of his ears. 

"Fuck you, Barnes." Jack muttered. Barnes made a face at him, thumbed his nose at Jack and flicked on the REPEAT button. "No, really. Sincerely. From the bottom of my heart. Fuck you." The bastard _giggled_.

* * *

Jack wriggled his finger around in his ear canal as if that would help restore his hearing. One of the hazards of building bombs in the woods was the occasional  _oh shit_ moment where he had to run away very, very fast. Hopefully he hadn't ruptured an eardrum. He'd lost part of an eyebrow too. _Looking like hot shit, Jack._  He wrapped a towel around his waist and left the tiny motel bathroom. 

Jack paced from one end of the room to the other. Then repeated the motions. Again. Occasionally he'd wriggle a finger in his ear and swear under his breath. "Motherfucking hell. Fucking Christ on a cracker." 

Barnes lifted up the brim of his baseball cap, the one with the white star on it. Jack had bought it for him at a truck stop. He said something, but Jack couldn't hear him over the rushing din in his ears. He huffed out a theatrical sigh and said to Jack, "Stop that." _  
_

"I can't. I can't hear anything! I lost part of my eyebrow! And I'm really nervous about tomorrow and if I'm not sleeping, then neither are you!" Jack said, far too loudly by the way Barnes cringed. 

 _Thin walls asshole,_ Barnes signed.  _Sit down._ Dust rose up from the comforter where Barnes slapped it. No wonder Barnes slept in all his clothes even though it made him look like a rumpled hobo. Jack had slept in worse places.

Jack peeled back the disgusting blanket, sat down and crossed his arms with a pout. He rapped his fingers on his biceps. He couldn't even watch television because this rat nest didn't have closed captions. He was too rusty at reading lips. 

 _You need to relax._ Barnes snapped his fingers as if he'd had a fantastic idea.  _How about a handjob?_ He didn't use the proper sign for the act and grinned.  _Are you bored, Sir?_

Jack flipped him off. "Shit joke, Barnes," he mumbled. 

 _No joke._ Barnes tugged at the towel around Jack's waist. It fell open and Jack felt a flush rise up from his chest towards his ringing ears.  _It's just what you need to take the edge off._  

"You just want me to shut up and let you sleep." Jack grumbled, he stared up at the stained ceiling. How long had it been since he'd heard Brock say almost the exact same thing in that safehouse? It seemed so far away. Venezuela, all ceiling stains looked like Venezuela.

 _Well, I'm not sweet on you. I like my lovers to have both of their eyebrows._ Barnes stuck out his tongue, wrapped his fingers around Jack's semi-hard cock and gave it a slow stripping stroke that made Jack's head fall back against the headboard with a thud. 

Jack closed his eyes and pretended that he was somewhere else, that the hand on his dick wasn't Barnes'. He thought about the way Brock's arms would curl about his waist as he stood at the kitchen counter, then how his hands would slide lower. How Brock would whisper filthy epithets that sounded smooth as honey in Jack's ears. " _Gonna fuck me with this big dick, Jack? Gonna make me holler out your name? Heh. I'll make you work for it, Big Guy."_  

Oh god, how he still missed Brock. Time should have made the wounds on his soul scab over, but they were still oozing and fresh. 

The way the Asset would lean into him, stealing a kiss in the room of no consequences. How obedient and pliant he was. Did he miss the Asset more than Brock? Jack couldn't say. Perhaps the sting was lessened by Barnes' presence and incessant yammering. Jack bucked up into Barnes' hand and came in spurts over his clever fingers. Tears flowed over his cheeks, spilled as freely as his semen. 

Barnes took his hand away, wiped it on the towel and grabbed Jack's face with clean metal fingers. He spoke very slowly, "Why are you crying?" Blue eyes were wide with concern and shock.

"You know why." Jack muttered weakly, he daubed off his crotch with the towel and put it on the floor. "I'm not sweet on _you_ , either." He pulled the sheet over his head and closed his eyes. He did feel a bit more relaxed, but that was probably from the crying, not the orgasm. Barnes returned to his side of the bed, curled away from him and started reading from the Bible in the dresser. 

One thing was for sure, if Barnes put that fucking cold arm on his bare skin at 2 am, then he was getting his ass dumped on the floor. _Again_.

* * *

Jack pulled on his shorts and shirt, got dressed quickly in the chill of the morning. Barnes preferred the rooms to be closer to freezing than not and Jack wasn't going to make a fuss about a little possible frostbite. He could hear again, thank god. Just the hint of ringing. Barnes sat on the edge of the bed as he ate a protein bar. 

"Morning." Jack said. He wasn't going to talk about last night if Barnes didn't bring it up. Please dear god, don't bring it up. 

"We have to talk." Barnes said around a mouthful of choco-nut bar. "Can you hear?" 

"Umm, no?" Jack hazarded a lame lie. "Can't hear a word you're saying, better swallow first." 

"Are you okay Jack? I haven't seen you break down like that in months. I gotta know, we've got so many more bases to hit and I have to know you're good to go." Barnes threw the wrapper in the trash. 

Jack combed back his hair, it had grown long enough to wear in a small tail. He rested his hands on the edge of the sink and looked in the mirror. He looked _old_. Worn out and rubbed thin. He took a deep breath and said, "You're fooling yourself if you thought I was  _ever_ good to go." 

"What?" Barnes stood up and leaned against the bathroom door frame. "What are you talking about? You're a great fighter!"

"I'm along for the ride, that's all. What happens when we blow up the last base, James?" Jack washed his hands and dried them off on a crispy white towel. "What happens when there's no HYDRA left to fight?" Barnes flinched as if Jack had struck him. 

"I--. I--." He stammered. "I-- I don't know." He slid down the door frame and sat on the floor, one foot on the tile and the other on the carpet. He chewed on a hangnail absently.   

Jack squatted down and took Barnes' flesh hand in his. He spoke softly and looked straight into Barnes' scared blue eyes. "Thought so. Here's what's going to happen. You're going to go find your Stevie. You're going to make a life together probably fighting aliens or wizards or monsters from the sea. Because you're meant to be together." Barnes shook his head and looked at the floor. 

"Don't look away from me. You know I don't bullshit about the important stuff." Jack squeezed his hand as Barnes tentatively looked back at him from under his lashes, "You're hiding. You're hiding from Rogers not because you're  _tainted_ or some crap like that, but because you're scared that he'll reject you." He bit his lip, "I get it. But I know Rogers and he's probably searching for you right now." 

"Maybe." Barnes mumbled. 

"He was showing me pictures of you at lunch when he thought you were  _dead._ That's right, I heard all about the piss bucket incident." Jack sighed. "You guys were always getting into trouble." 

"Stevie was always getting into trouble. I was draggin' his ass out of it. He loves that story." His face crumpled and Jack pulled him close, let Barnes sob into his shirt.

When he calmed Jack rubbed the back of his neck and said soothingly, "He loves you. He loves you more than anything. And you're being a total bastard hiding from him. This is the last mission, James." 

Barnes hiccuped and then set his jaw with grim determination. "Then let's make it a good one. Let's hit the medical complex. The one where they do the human testing. Hit 'em where it hurts. Hit 'em where they hurt me so many times." Jack nodded, it wasn't far from here. It wouldn't take too many changes to the charges to pull the whole thing down on one of HYDRA's many heads. Barnes grabbed the front of Jack's shirt and demanded with steely eyes, "What are you going to do if I leave you, Jack?" 

Jack shrugged, "Brock left me a deed to a cabin in Montana. Maybe I'll learn how to fly-fish." He unfolded Barnes' fingers from his shirt, one by one. "I'm a big boy, Barnes. I make my own choices." 

"They haven't all been good choices." Barnes sniffled. 

"No. No they haven't." Jack agreed.

"Sorry about last night. Don't know what I was thinking." Barnes looked back at the floor. 

"It's okay." Jack coughed, "We're not remotely close to being even if you're counting all the shit we're done to each other." 

"I don't keep track." Barnes sighed, "Can't count that high." Then he smiled sunnily, as if to imply that it was all a big joke. But the smile didn't reach his eyes and Jack wasn't fooled. He lifted his arm and Jack helped him to his feet. "Let's raise some hell." 

* * *

_Oh fucking hell!_

Jack raced down from his vantage point. The dead man switch's detonator light was dark in his hand. Something had gone wrong with the main support strut explosive. Where was Barnes? Where was Barnes? A bullet zinged past his head, Jack returned fire as easily as breathing. The security guard fell with a thud from the headshot. Jack loped down the red lit access corridor, hid behind a column and took inventory. He still had a three pack of grenades, a full clip of ammo. This wasn't a lost cause just yet.

And he had to save Barnes. Nothing mattered but that. Jack had made his peace with his demise, but Barnes had earned a new life, a second chance. And you didn't argue with fate when it brought someone back to life. He felt his lips tug back in a tight smile just like when he was on a STRIKE mission. The only thing missing was-- No time to think about that now. No time at all. 

There it was. The main support beam. Shitty construction, but you got what you paid for. Jack shoved a new fuse in the plastique and made a mad dash back for the entrance. He saw Barnes ahead of him, _thank god_ , they were going to get out of this alive after all-- 

Something in armor stepped out of the shadows, knocked him to his knees with a sweeping kick. Jack landed on his hands and knees. Something sliced through his body armor, speared through his guts and exited out his belly. Jack choked on the pain and the blood in his mouth. The blade pulled out of his body and a voice said, "Was waiting for you. SHIELD scum." 

"JACK!" Barnes screamed in the dark, too far away to help. His face was stricken, contorted in grief. So, this looked bad to him too. Nice to know they were in agreement. 

"RUN!" Jack yelled back, he fell onto the concrete. It was blessedly cool against his face. 

The armored man rolled him over and Jack spat a mouthful of his own blood at the helmet's visor. The man ripped off the helmet and stared at him in horror. Jack blinked and for a moment, forgot about the excruciating pain that was slowly dwindling as shock set in. He reached up his hand and asked in a sputtering whisper, " _Brock_?" There were burns and scars all over his beautiful face, but it was Brock Rumlow leaning over him. This wasn't such a bad place to die. 

"Jack? Oh god. Not you! Medic! I need a medic!" Brock screamed into a radio transmitter, "Jack-- I thought you were dead! I thought you died. I looked for you, I did, oh god, no. No. Please no." He pressed on the wound in Jack's belly with gauntleted hands. "Stay with me, Big Guy. Please stay with me. You can't leave me, not again. You can't leave me. I'm so sorry!" 

"You sure talk a lot, Princess." Jack was feeling woozy from blood loss and shocked bliss. _My Brock_. He hooked a finger around his tag chain and Brock pulled it out from his shirt collar, blood staining the metal beads. "Liked the rings. Thought you died too. Was getting a little revenge." He held up the dead man switch. "Wanna help me finish the mission? Just you and me. One-- last time." He didn't have long. Brock was good at killing people, but he was better at leaving them alive just enough to suffer for a few minutes. That's all he needed to die happily, Brock was here, Brock was holding him. Brock's tears spattered on his face. 

Brock scooped him up in his arms--  _he was never that strong before--_ carried him bridal style out of the tunnel. Barnes was gone.  _Good. Run boy run. Run back to the people who love you and never forget them._

Jack let his thumb slip off the trigger. "Boom." As the complex imploded, he closed his eyes and smiled. "Don't cry." Brock held him close, murmuring _I love you_ over and over until Jack stopped breathing and then Brock fell to his knees in the dirt. He took off his gauntlets and traced the scar on Jack's chin with his thumb.

It took four men and two syringes of horse tranquilizers to pry Jack's body from Brock's grasp. They were loaded into the back of a transport. Brock unzipped the body bag. "Shh." Brock said in a dead man's ear, "I'm gonna take you home. There's a place for you there. Next to your parents." He combed bloody fingers through Jack's hair, "And I'm going to make all of them pay. All of them are going to burn."

He tried to fit the rings on his finger, but only Jack's would fit over his scarred finger. It glimmered against his red, blistered flesh. "Especially Barnes and Rogers.  _It's all their fault_. They're all going to  _fucking burn._ " He laughed, a high-pitched hysterical keening that made the drivers shrink in upon themselves in fear. "I'll destroy the whole world for you, Jack. Won't that be fun?"

Brock pushed his ring upon Jack's stiff finger and proclaimed fiercely, " _I do_."  _  
_

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading. It's been a rough ride. All your comments are greatly appreciated. 
> 
> And I'm sorry.


End file.
